Break Me, Bury Me
by lizoftheinfinite
Summary: Kenny's ability to die becomes a commodity in a world ruled by bloodthirsty fairies. He's not going to go down without a fight. Vive La Resistance! M for language, graphic content, and violence. Edit: My apologies, this story is on hiatus for a much-needed rewrite.
1. Chapter One

**For readers unfamiliar with my writing, you can expect gore, angst, violence, pairings of the het, slash, femslash and crack variety, too many adverbs, too much swearing, and incomprehensibility on Christophe's part.**

**Also, Kenny/Christophe/Bebe best friendship belongs to Searyou. Think about it, because it makes amazing sense. **

* * *

><p>The cry for help alerts me.<p>

I drop my grocery bag and tear down the street. The kid is still screaming ten seconds later, even when I turn the corner into the alley. The night obscures my vision, but the sound of scuffles and shouting echo against the walls.

The alley is long enough for me to feel lost after a few footsteps. I sprint in the direction of the scream. My sneakers pound into the pavement with each stride. As I near the source of the screams, I make out dozens of figures. Most of them are hunched over and leaning against the wall. Four are standing in a semi-circle with their hands raised. Something silver-gray shimmers in the air within their circle.

When I get close enough, I see the people against the wall are wearing handcuffs.

Another two people carry poles vibrating blue-gray color. They press them up close to the prisoners whenever they try to jerk free. They're all handcuffed together in a chain. And I have no idea what's going on, but I know it's probably not a good thing.

I push my hood off my head and stop half a dozen feet away from the group. "What the hell do you think you're doing?"

The little kid keeps screaming.

This close, I can make out more detail. Like, the people who aren't in handcuffs are all really tall and skinny and kind of shiny-looking. They all have eyes too big for their heads and they wear clothing I don't recognize, a floaty, airy cloth that almost hovers around their bodies. There's something about them that immediately strikes me as inhuman. Living in South Park, this is not the most uncommon of events.

One of the prisoners tries to struggle free, and an inhuman guard presses its pole against her head. Silvery-gray electricity buzzes over her skin. She shrieks, her voice grating my ears. She slumps to the ground. The other prisoners continue to cower.

"I said, what the hell do you think you're doing?"

The little kid has stopped screaming by now, reduced to just barest whimpers.

The four other inhumans continue to hold their hands up in the air with the light shimmering in front of them. They all have charcoal symbols drawn on their hands, which look kinda similar to Arabic lettering. I step towards them.

One of the inhuman guards blocks my way, holding its pole out. It pulls a pair of handcuffs from a pocket. The handcuffs are not modern and shiny, as was my first impression, but made of tightly woven strands of metal and glowing with a soft blue-gray light.

It extends the handcuffs towards me and snickers.

"You fucking wish," I say, and snap a kick. I catch it in the gut and it stumbles back. I whirl to kick the other guard, but the first one is already back at me. It jams the pole into my stomach.

The shimmery gray light erupts through me. Pain explodes. Dimly, I feel my knees hitting the cement, but the agony sears every other sensation away. I must be screaming, because I've never felt anything like this in my entire life, and then-

I wake up in Hell.

* * *

><p>Because I'm Damien's 'special guest' I find myself standing in front of Satan's apartment. It smells like brimstone down here, but also a bit like the fake scent soccer moms buy for their cars, so I cover my nose with my sleeve while I knock on the door.<p>

Satan pulls open the door a few seconds later. He's wearing a flowery apron. "Kenny!" he gushes.

"Uh, hey. Satan. Um. Is Damien here?"

He lets me into the apartment and I duck down the hallway. Damien is lying on his back in the middle of the floor, throwing tiny fireballs at hummingbirds swirling above his head.

"Dude," I say from his doorway.

He doesn't look at him. "S'up, dude."

"I died. I need to get back up fast. Some shit going on."

He rolls his eyes and stands up. The hummingbirds disappear. "How'd'ja die?"

I describe the inhumans and the shimmery light things to him. His brow furrows.

"Be careful, dude."

"You know what they are?"

"Yeah, and they're not pretty. They're outside my father's domain."

"So they're not from earth?"

He smirks. "That's right. I don't think I'm allowed to tell you much about them. It might start a war or something, and I'd rather just burn small animals than expend energy by fighting." He places a hand on my shoulder. "Sure you don't want to hang around in hell for a few hours until your curse draws you back to the surface anyway?"

He calls it a curse, but that's only his nickname for it. Even Satan has no idea why I come back to life.

"No, I've gotta get back up. They have innocents with them."

He snorts. "Oh, you. Ever the fucking hero." His hand heats up. The world fades to black. I wake up again, and this time I'm in my bedroom.

The darkness weighs down on my body, suffocating me. My blankets smell like age and mold and sweat. Should probably wash them. I throw the sheets off and roll off my mattress on the floor. I'm already wearing another orange parka, one that's not singed from the strange-ass electricity. My padding footsteps don't make a sound on our rotting wood floor. I ease out the window and into the night.

Before I take off again I realize I could probably use some help. I pivot and start jogging in the opposite direction of the alley where I found the inhumans. Although I need help, those things killed me. I can only ask for aid from someone I'm not really worried about dying.

I stand in front of a two-story upper-middle-class-suburban-home and try not to smash the flowers to little bits. It's kinda difficult because there are so many of them, like a daisy infestation. Also kind of surprising because frost coats the ground, but then, I wouldn't be surprised if Ms. DeLorn fertilized them with nuclear waste.

I clamber up the side of the house, propelling myself off the sill. Before I can knock on the second-story window, it flies open and something reaches out and yanks me inside.

I tumble to the ground, banging my cheek on the radiator, and get dust in my nose. While I cough and hold my stinging chick, I hear Christophe mutter, "Oh, eet's just you."

I look up to see his shovel raised above his head.

"Mmmppphh mmmpph mmmmpph mmmpphhh! Mmmmpmm mmpph mmpmpmhmp mmmpphmpph mmmpphh?" Which translates to, 'Of course it's just me! What were you going to do if it wasn't, smash my head in?'

"Take ze goddamn 'ood off," Christophe says, lowering his shovel and leaning back against the wall. He and Bebe are the only two people to ever ask me to do that. Also, he can't understand a word I say with the hood on because he still sucks at English after like ten years of living here.

I pull the hood off and repeat my statement. He just snickers, which is super comforting.

"There's no time to screw around, dude," I say. "We need to get somewhere. There's these people who are in trouble, and, yeah-" I don't know what to say about the situation before I stumble across the whole 'and I died' thing. And he would probably stare at me with his trademarked, 'Oh, um, okay, you're fucking crazy' look if I say anything about that.

I take another five seconds to describe the inhumans to him. Another agonizing five seconds. I don't know how long I was dead, but fate has a nasty habit of making me arrive a minute after I needed to be there.

Christophe's eyes narrow as I speak. "Mozzerfucking son of a cocksucking beetch," he hisses.

"What?"

"Nozzing." He shakes his head and hefts his shovel. "Zere ees nozing we can do, McCormick, zey are too strong for us."

"Wait. What. Wait. You know these freaks?"

He grimaces and leans back further. Slouching is another one of Christophe's trademarks. He does it when he gets emotionally defensive, usually when warding off his mother or talking to a teacher. He's barely vertical by now.

"I know zem," he mutters. He lights a cigarette and starts to suck on it.

"So? Tell me what they are on the way! Let's go!"

He shakes his head and takes another drag.

"We can't fight zem," he says.

I clench my fists. "Maybe you missed my explanation, but like two dozen people were in chains. We gotta do something. At the very least, go to the fucking police, dude."

Chris is a short guy. I have three inches on him even when he stands tippy-toe. But his glare makes him tower over me.

"Do not fucking interfere wiz zem," he says. "You 'ave a gig tomorrow night, oui? Go 'ome. Get some sleep."

I want to keep protesting, but then I realize that maybe Christophe's right. Maybe this is dangerous. Maybe I'm an asshole for wanting to risk anyone other than myself.

"Okay," I say, and head back for the window.

He grabs my shoulder and glowers at me. "You don't give up zat easily." He sucks in smoke and keeps on glaring.

"Dude, you know me. Laid back, and stuff, right?" Except for that slight superhero thing I did when I was a kid, a superhero thing that has clung to me long since I discarded my costume. "You're right, dude. I don't know what's going on but you're probably right. Maybe I . . . maybe I just imagined it or something."

He roles his eyes but releases me.

"Just tell me what you know about these freaky things, tomorrow, please."

"Allright," he agrees. Lies. I know Christophe too well.

"I won't do anything dangerous tonight."

And Christophe doesn't know me as well as I know him, because it's not dangerous is you can't really die anyway.

I jump out his window and run for the alley.

* * *

><p>By the time I arrive, huffing and gasping for air, the prisoners have disappeared. Now only a shimmery vortex remains. The silver-gray light contrasts with the blackness around me.<p>

I look up and down the alley for a trace of the prisoners or the inhuman freaks. Nothing. I examine the vortex thingie closer. It's about four feet tall, and it hovers in the air, almost like heat on a summer day. I poke it. My finger disappears.

I yank my hand back and it reappears. Jesus Christ! The thing's not a vortex, it's a portal! With, like, freaking magic or something!

I stare at it for a few seconds. Okay, I know I'm immortal, and I know I've fought zombies and dark lords and shit, but the whole magic thing still kind of freaks me out a little bit.

I push my entire hand through, then pull it back. The air on the other side feels warmer than the freezing temperatures of late-November South Park.

Where the hell does this thing go?

Only one way to find out.

* * *

><p>In retrospect, going through without help was kind of a bad idea, but it wasn't like I have anything to risk. I already know that regardless of how or where I die, whether it be by syphilis or in the lost city of R'lyeh, I'll come back to life in a couple hours. Still, it hurts when I tumble face first in what appears to be scrub brush.<p>

"Ow! Fuck! Shit! Fuck!"

I roll into a semi-sitting position and start to pluck burs out of my palm and forehead. It appears to be dusk over here, wherever I am. Somewhere on the other side of the planet, maybe? How the hell would I know? Soft pink light filters over me from the sunset. I glance at my surroundings. Scrubbrush for miles. A few hundred yards ahead of me are the beginnings of a path. It leads to a full-on dirt road on the horizon line, and then I don't know where that leads.

I glance up at the sky and my stomach clenches. Okay. Two suns. They hover pretty close to each other. The shadows on the ground kind of spot from the way they shade. They're also smaller than the suns at home, and more orangey than yellow. I stare at them for a few seconds, and then my eyes start to water. I return to pulling the burs and stickers from my skin.

Okay. Different dimension. No big deal, right?

I sit up and dust off my jeans. Then I unzip my parka and tie it around my waist, because it's practically April weather over here. Okay, April if you didn't live in South Park.

There is no one for miles. None of the inhuman freaks, none of the prisoners.

I stare at the vortex (it's exactly the same on this side as the other) then decide if I can't find my way back I'll just die.

Then I start to walk.

The dust here poofs up around my sneakers and clings to my jeans. Within a few minutes my hands and face are dusty brown. As both the suns dip towards the horizon, the temperature starts to drop. It takes long then I would think for the suns to set. Do they have twenty-four hour days over here? The gravity seems to be pretty similar.

By the time I reach the hill, the suns have set and stars light up the sky. These stars seem closer (larger, at least) and they very more in color. The unfamiliar constellations wink at me. I glower back at them.

I pause on the crest of the hill. Below me, what appears to be a city spreads out to the next horizon line, like two hundred miles away. There aren't any skyscrapers, just tent-looking objects with radiuses the size of parks. Little huts dot the edges, like suburbs. I wonder where the hell I am. I wonder how the hell Christophe knows about this.

The prisoners have to be somewhere in the city. I start walking down the road, scuffing up huge dirt clouds until I choke. The brush starts to lessen, replaced by grass. The hill shallows out. Farmland chokes each side of the road, at least, what I assume is farmland. It looks more like grass almost a dozen feet tall, but dark red and bearing little purple fruits.

My stomach gurgles. My dinner was in that brown paper bag I dropped who knows how many hours ago. I reach out to grab a fruit, then stop. It could be toxic to the touch or something – who knows what crazy ass things these freaks eat? Even though it smells like fucking ambrosia. My stomach whines at me but I ignore and keep walking.

Footsteps mar the ground in front of me. A million of those inhuman freaks must have trampled this road. Even as I begin to see the city outskirts, everything is eerily quiet. No crickets, no cars, not even running water.

Huge gray tentlike buildings rise up in front of me. A gate made of woven metal bars my entrance into the city. As I get closer, I recognize some of the figures waiting in front of the gate. Some of them are the inhumans from earlier, the ones who killed me, although they have been joined by several dozen more of their kind. And then there are the humans.

Even though the road is almost a hundred feet wide, the humans fill it six deep. They all bear woven chains. They huddle together, children sobbing. Some of the inhumans from before are arguing with other inhumans at the gate. I hear a _chink!_ as one of the inhumans drops several strips of shiny purple metal, each shinning with a several-gray light. The gates start to shift. Instead of sliding open, they simply begin to fade.

I attempt to hide in the grass-plant-crop-thingies, but the rustling alerts the inhumans. One of them points at me and shouts. Another one of them babbles. I have no idea what the fuck their words mean, but I can guess it goes something like this:

"Hey! It's that guy!"

"Yeah! It's that guy!"

"Didn't we . . . . do something to him earlier?"

"Yeah! Um, I think!"

"Well, he's bothering us, so let's kill him again!"

That's paraphrased, of course.

Two of them advance on me, their blue-shiny spears extended.

I consider my options. A) Run like a gibbering moron, and live to tell about it. B) Stay with these guys long enough to figure out more about what the hell's going on here so I can at least try and convince Christophe to help me save these people . . . and live to tell about it anyway.

I hold up my hands. "Hey!"

They stare at me.

"I, uh, don't want to be hurt or something. So. I. Uh. Surrender!"

I hold up my hands.

One of them comes up and whacks me on the shoulder with the pole. More electricity.

* * *

><p>This time when I wake up I expect to be dead. Instead, I'm curled up in a little ball with something metal wrenching my hands behind my back. Handcuffs, I guess. I've worn handcuffs before. These are warmer than any pair I've ever encountered. By the slap of chilly air on my skin, I can tell I'm only wearing a pair of jeans. I wiggle my bare toes. At least my feet aren't chained up.<p>

My mouth tastes like a squirrel swallowed a can of hairspray, climbed into my mouth, died, and rotted for several days. This has happened to me before.

Floaty fabric obscures my vision. Dirt presses against my cheek.

I sit up, trying to make as little sound as possible. A little whimper escapes me when my muscles protest. My head pounds and my stomach fills with nausea. I swallow hard, because I really don't want to throw up with this hood on.

I'm about to attempt the whole 'standing up' thing when someone yanks the hood off my head. One of the inhuman faces gets into mine. They look different enough from us to be freaky, similar enough to sneer.

I scoot away until my back hits a wall. The inhuman person leers over me. I realize how freakishly tall all of them are; I haven't seen one yet under seven feet. A quick glance reveals my surroundings; a room with dimensions of a prison cell, walls made of the floaty cloth glowing blue-gray and somehow magicked to be hard like plaster, and dirt floors. It's cold in here, cold enough to make me think they've got some sort of artificial heating thing going on.

I lick my lips. "Um," I say.

"What's your name?" the inhuman thing says very slowly in very precise English. I stare up at it.

Okaaaaaaay. "Kenny McCormick. Where the fuck am I? Who the fuck are you people?"

The inhuman thing grabs me by the neck and lifts me into the air. I flail, kicking my legs out, shrieking for it to let me go. It works about as well as I expected it to. He (and I've decided they're definitely a he) just snorts.

"Who do you work for?"

His accent is kind of middle-eastern, like he's chewing on the words and barely just letting them drop from his mouth.

I don't think he's realized I need oxygen. My vision starts to go first. Panic eats at my nerves. I make more whimpering sounds, and then he drops me to the ground.

I crumple in a little ball, gagging on air.

"Who do you work for?" he repeats.

"Uh . . . myself . . . ?"

He kicks me with his metal-covered feet.

At least one rib cracks. The force rolls me over until I hit a wall. Pain floods me. It burns down my fingertips and dulls my thought processes. All I can think is make it stop make it stop make it stop! And then it occurs to me I might be in a kind of a torture cellar, which could kind of be a bad thing.

"Is it that rat with the shovel? Or the blond human with the sword?"

Christophe. Gregory. Christophe knew about the fae things – it's gotta be the two of them. I stare up at him and consider telling him the truth – that I don't work for them but I do know them.

But I can die, and they can't.

"Dude-" Cough. "-Don't know what the fuck you're talking about-"

"Don't lie!"

Another kick.

The instant agony of this one lasts for a bit longer before fading into an insistent ache.

"No human would willingly come to this world and approach us after we scared you away! Who do you work for? Who were those two humans with the shovel and the sword!"

"I seriously don't-"

I hold up my hands but he stamps down on my fingers, cracking them.

My vision goes black. After a few seconds it starts to spot and then I can sort of see again. I realize I'm screaming and stop. He just stands above me, grinning. I cradle my hands to my chest.

"I'm sorry," I whine, sounding like a pathetic child but not actually caring. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, please don't-"

He pulls a metal rod from his belt, and touches it with his index finger. It lights up all shimmery blue.

"Who do you work for?"

I shake my head. "I – I don't work for an-an-anyone-"

He zaps me, and this time I really do die.

* * *

><p>When my curse kicks in and sends me back up to earth, I wake up at about five in the morning, staring up at the ceiling. My body aches with the memory of torture and all I want to do is curl up and go back to sleep until my alarm goes off.<p>

Instead, I think for a bit. Then, as the sun has just started to peek over the horizon (six o clock) I roll out of bed and begin my hunt for my notebook.

I find it crammed in the corner of my room behind my acoustic guitar. The first two pens I find are dead, but the third spits out (red) ink. I sit on my bed, which I call my bed but is really just a mattress on the floor. Then I begin to write.

FACT:

-Alternate world

-Seems to be inhabited by 'freak' creatures

-freaks physically strong, have magical powers, weaponry

-capturing humans – prisoners . . . motive . . . ?

CHRISTOPHE INVOLVEMENT:

-Freaks seem to know of him and Gregory.

-They do not seem to like him.

-Christophe is scared of them for some reason . . .

Need to talk to Christophe – see what he's afraid of . . . trick him into talking about it?

I underline the last sentence a bunch of times then throw my spiral notebook back into the corner of the room. Then my little sister Karen yells from the kitchen.

"Kennnnnnnyyyy! You said you'd get miiiiiiilk last night!"

Shit. I jump off my bed and start to search through my closet for a clean t-shirt. "Sorry!" I call. "I forgot!" It was with the bag of groceries I dropped back when I heard the scream.

"How am I supposed to eat my goddamn cereal without miiiillk?"

"Don't swear!" my father yells from the parents' bedroom.

"Don't tell her what to do!" my mother shrieks. They dissolve into squabbling. My two-year-old brother Kieran starts to sob. I locate a shirt that smells fairly clean and shrug it on, then run into my brothers' room. My older brother, Kevin, is passed out on his mattress still, probably hungover or something. Kieran is in a pile of sheets, tears running down his face. He clings to the bars of his crib.

"Stop that," I tell him, but lift him out of his crib anyway. "Kev, wake up." I kick him but he just moans and rolls over. Asshole isn't even supposed to live here anymore. He's supposed to be going to college. _College. _Yeah, right.

I hurry into the kitchen and deposit Kieran into Karen's arms. He immediately stops crying, because he loves the little bitch. Why, I do not know.

She scowls at me. "Can't believe you forgot the milk. We don't have enough left for cereal."

"Sorry, sorry." I open the refrigerator door and stick my head in. I'm a so-so cook but I can improvise like no one's business. "Waffles? We can use peanut butter instead of syrup. And water instead of milk."

If there's one thing our family always has, it's peanut butter. Or pop tarts. Or peanut butter pop tarts.

By the time I've mixed up the batter, Kieran has gone back to sleep, so Karen hands him back to me and starts to make the pancakes herself so I don't screw anything up. I lay him down in his crib, check on my parents to see they've both gone back to sleep, and head on back to my room to find an acceptable parka.

I barely have time to eat before someone knocks on the door. "Hello?" Bebe calls into the house.

"You could wait for us to answer it!" Karen yells from the kitchen, already flipping the third batch of pancakes.

"Or your idiot brother could stop being so freaking slow!"

"Mmpphh!"

I throw my schoolbooks into my backpack and rush for the door. Bebe leans against the doorframe, arms crossed and single eyebrow raised. Her boobs are still like the most awesome boobs in the history of boobage, and they're still the first thing I notice every morning.

She snorts. "My eyes are still up here."

I nod in agreement.

"Good morning to you, too. We're late."

"Mmpphh? Mmmphh mmmpph mmppph!"

"Yes we are. Come on, dude."

It's snowing outside. I hug my parka tighter around my body. Bebe's boobs are so awesome I can see their shape through her coat. That is how awesome she is.

"Are you nervous?"

I loosen the hood of my parka. "For what?"

She rolls her eyes. "Your gig tonight, duh."

I step over a patch of ice and snigger when Bebe steps in it. She slips and clings to me to prevent tripping. I continue to laugh even as she stalks out in front of me.

"Not really." I haven't been thinking about it at all. I've been more focused on the whole 'inhuman freaks capturing people somehow connected to Christophe and Gregory' thing.

"S'only your second one."

And my first one was just my grandpa hiring me to play corny songs for grandma on their fiftieth birthday while he sang to her, off-key. This one is real, playing Beatles tunes at some rich North Park kid's birthday party.

"I'll be okay." I have the songs memorized. I can even sing them, too, not that anyone ever wants me to sing because I learned how to sing opera when I was like eight and so I always go an octave higher just to piss people off.

"Well, then," she says. "Did you study for your Field Bio test?" And so I make a face and she snickers at me and then we're in front of Christophe's house.

He bounds out the door a second before I knock on it. He's already to the sidewalk by the time Bebe and I turn around. Fortunately, he waits for us at the corner.

"Your mom?" Bebe asks when we catch up.

He grimaces. "She was trying to make me say my fucking prayers after I ate fucking breakfast. Fucking beetch!" He slings his shovel over his shoulder, two textbooks under his other arm. "You look like you didn't sleep at all last night," he tells me, his eyes narrowed.

"I'm okay." I hold up my hands. "See? Not a scratch on me."

"Wait, what?" Bebe asks.

"I'll tell you later," Christophe lies through his teeth. He eyes me for a few seconds, then shrugs and turns around. "Let's go, beetches. We're going to be late."

He and Bebe start to bicker over a cheat code on World of Warcraft. I trail after them, half-listening to their conversation, half-plotting a way to wring information out of Chris. He's clearly going to BS his way out of any corner I back him into. But he knows something, I know he does. It could be crucial in figuring out how to sneak into the city and locate all the humans those freaks captured last night-

We catch the 7:15 commuter bus instead of our usual 7:05 bus. There are a bunch of crazy homeless people on the route from South Park to North Park, but the half or so dozen high school students and the adults are pretty good at ignoring each other. From the stop in North Park it's a three-minute walk to Park County High School, although with the ice on the streets it takes more time.

We reach the school a full five minutes before the bell rings. Buses are still pulling in. Bebe bounds up the stairs ahead of Christophe and me, since her AP Lit class is all the way on the other side of the school.

An unfamiliar girl stands next to the double doors, her arms crossed and her head bent. She wears a frilly, almost Victorian dress that contrasts with other students' cold weather gear. Her arms are bare. She must be freezing. She looks up as we approach.

"Kenny McCormick," she says. Christophe and I stop.

"I need to talk to you."

Her voice is melodic and smooth. I glance at Christophe and he grins and nudges me. He's right. This girl's pretty hot. Not as much up top as Bebe, of course, but her skin is bronze and flawless and her eyes huge and her hips curvy under the tight upper body of her dress.

"Kay." I stop. Christophe heads through the double doors, smirking at me one more time before disappearing into the hallways. I move against the stairs to allow a clump of students to trudge past me. She waits until the tardy bell has rung and the mobs of kids have died away.

"Who are you?" I ask.

"Lila," she says, and offers nothing more. Then she holds out her hand.

As soon as I take her hand, I know I'm screwed.

* * *

><p>Lila's hand glows with the silver-gray shimmery light. I stare into her eyes and see they are as gray and flat as the freaks from the other world. She shakes my hand up and down and keeps shaking it until the bell for the start of class has rung and we're alone in front of the school.<p>

"It's nice to meet you," she says. She doesn't let go. Her lips stay curved up and absolutely terrifying.

"You're one of them," I say. She doesn't look like them. Her ears are normal under her curly black hair, her eyes proportional, her body filled out. But she smiles the same way.

"This body is just a disguise, yes," she says. "Although we're not 'them', we are the fae. And I see you are acquainted with that shovel freak we had so much trouble with last week."

"I don't work for him," I say. "I discovered you independently. What the hell did you do with those people you guys captured last night? What the hell is going on?"

"Oh, Kenny, Kenny, Kenny," she says, waving her free hand. "Questions are for the one who is in control. And I want you to understand right now that you are not in control. I could blow you into bits with just a thought. Understand that?"

I nod.

"Not that you'd care much, would you?" Her lips curl. "I don't yet understand you, Kenny, but I'm dying to know how you do it. Why don't you escort me to my Portal while you tell me all about it?"

"Um," I say. "I don't think that would be a good idea."

"That's nice," she purrs, and starts down the steps. She doesn't let go of my hand and for all her diminutive stature she's surprisingly strong. I follow her over the yard and into the street. It'll take at least twenty minutes to get back to South Park. I can figure out a way to escape by then.

"How'd you – remember – "

"Remember?" Her eyebrows shoot up.

"Nobody ever remembers when I die."

"Oh, that." She flicks her hair. The way she's gripping my hand requires me to walk by her side, when all I want to do is turn and run. "Galin visually imprinted your death into a tablet – I don't expect you to know what this means, unless you're well acquainted with how our world works – and showed it to me to prove he'd done the best he could in extracting information from you. You died rather unexpectedly. Most humans won't die from something as simple as that."

"Yeah," I say. "I'm kind of like that."

"Hmm. Interesting. Care to elaborate?"

"Finish your story, please."

"Very well then. Galin, my torturer, went back to clean up your body and found that it was missing with no trace of your blood. Then we rewatched the tablet and saw that you had disappeared, even though your blood remained. One of our sniffer hounds smelled your jacket and started to try and sniff you out, so we knew you must still be alive. And so we found out where you lived and where you went to school. A simple matter, really. You should not have given your real name. Please do not be so foolish in the future." She finally lets go of my hand, but only to pat my cheek, which doesn't make me feel a whole lot better.

"So, would you care to explain your magical come-back-alive act?"

We stand in front of the bus stop. It's kind of ridiculous in retrospect for something as grand and otherworldly as – what did she call herself? A fae? – to take the bus.

"What," I say, "don't they have spells for that in your world?"

She shakes her head. "It's one of the few things our finest magicians have not been able to duplicate into symbol format."

"Symbol format?"

"How we do spells. You'll learn soon enough." She waves her hands with a dismissive flick. The casualness implies time, which is definitely not something I want to spend in this fae world. I just want to rescue those people and go.

"What do you want with me?"

"Describe your dying trick."

My mouth is dry. I lick my lips and try to make a sound. "It's not a trick," I mumble. "I don't even do it on purpose. I die, I go down to hell, I wake up in my bed a few hours later perfectly okay."

In one way it's a relief to say this out loud to another living being and have there be an actual possibility of them believing me. In another way it sucks because she's one of the creatures who killed me twice last night.

"You just die randomly."

"Yeah. About once a week or so, although I used to do it more when I was younger. I don't know why it happens. Some serious occult shit I think. I die in the strangest ways. Once by eating a bunch of antacids and blowing up." The bus screeches around the corner and Lila and I step out. It's mostly emptied by now so we head for the back and relative privacy.

"Why? Why do you want to know? What do you want with me? Are you going to torture me for, like, invading your world or something? I'll never speak of it again, I swear-" And I realize I'm babbling now, so I shut up. She watches me, her lips twitching.

"I'll explain to you what I want, Kenny, when I feel like the location is more appropriate." She places a hand on my shoulder and sits next to me, her bare skin brushing my sleeve. "It has to do with that clever little dying trick. And I want you to realize that you are mine and you are completely under my control."

"Kay," I agree. I don't want her to blow my brains out. That would be painful.

"You're such a perfect pawn." She strokes my arm and sits next to me for the rest of the duration of the ride.

* * *

><p>The snow is pelting down by the time we exit the bus. Ice chunks chip at my skin. I tighten my hood and shiver. Lila continues to show no sign of cold.<p>

She leads me to the alleyway from last night. This time I take careful note of the street; it's near fifth and Grant, a little corner no one cares about. I almost trip about fifty bajllion times. Maybe the cold will kill me and I'll be able to get away from her. Whenever I'm more than a few feet behind her she grabs my wrist and drags me along.

The swirling vortex portal thingie is still there, although the light is dimmer. She touches it with her index finger and the light brightens again.

"Come along, then," she says, and I doubt she's going to let me argue. If the worst happens, I can just die.

I follow her through the portal and end up in the same pile of scrubbrush. My mind whirls and tries to process the midday suns glaring down from above.

Next to us is a huge boxlike contraption made of metal and covered with the floaty-gray-shiny papery cloth I've been seeing everywhere. It's about the size of a train boxcar, maybe a little larger. Lila extends her hand, and then practically drags me towards it when I try to hold my ground.

The inside walls are covered with the floaty papery cloth, except it seems to be slightly thicker in substance. A bench is built into the wall, made out of the tightly woven wire. Two of the fae-inhuman-freaks with symbols stand at the far wall. Lila touches the doorframe and the metal door fades back into existence. Then she gestures for me to sit on the bench. She sits next to me, too close. The two other fae press their hands against the metal wall. Their arms glow silver-gray. My stomach lurches when we rise up into the air.

The heat forces me to remove my parka. "Um, where the hell are we going?"

She raises her eyebrows and smirks at me in amusement. "My house," she informs me. "Where you were last night."

"I thought that was a torture chamber."

"I have a lot of rooms." She keeps on smirking. "So, why did that shovel-bearing human and his friend come to our world, and what do they want?"

"I don't know. Really. I don't. If you want to interrogate me about him again-"

"Oh, that's not that important." She waves her hand. "You're far more interesting anyway, Kenny McCormick. And you will be far more useful to me. Although I will want to know more about the human with the shovel in the future."

Cold shoots up my spine. "What do you want with me?"

She leans back against the wall. "I'll explain in due time."

"Who the hell are you people? Why did you guys kidnap those humans last night? What did you do with them-"

"Oh, please be quiet," she says. "The typical 'bewildered human' gets boring fast, and I have a feeling you're smarter than that. Since you apparently need it spelled out for you, I run one of the largest black market slave trades in the empire. We deal with humans from your dimension. We steal them in through various portals, we brainwash them in our capitol city, Hyen'lao, which you approached last night, and then we ship them all over the country for different uses, the main demand being in agriculture. Any questions?"

I stare at her. My brain trips over itself in an attempt to process what she's said.

"Slave trade," I say.

"We usually prefer to take humans from Africa and India, but we've found that humans in European and North American countries tend to be in better shape and can be worked harder. I believe the shipment you tracked down last night was from various parts of Colorado. We chose your city to build the portal in because of its abnormally weak barrier between the different dimensions. I suspect crazy shit might happen in your town upon occasion, hmm?"

I continue to gape at her. "Yeah," I manage. "You could say that."

My brain continues to try and equate 'slave trade' to 'tiny hot teenager sitting next to me. Apparently pure evil.'

"Why do you need me?"

"Like I said." She pats me on the arm. "You'll see."

We touch down.

* * *

><p>When I step out into the sunlight, the city is in full swing. The box behind us fades and the two fae step up next to Lila and bow down behind her. She must be someone important. I continue to gawk at the city.<p>

The tentlike houses with walls made of floaty, papery, blue-gray-shiny cloth are opens up to reveal woven metal supports beneath. The box landed in what appears to be some sort of lot. We step out into the wide street made of dirt. The houses line either side. From what I can see, a system of streets makes up their city here the way ours does at home, only when I glance up I see metal strips about six feet wide floating above my head. Fae walk along them as if they're shortcuts, although I can only see the bottoms of their feet from this perspective. The streets are full of children, all skinny and tall and disproportional to what I think of a child as. Gangs of them play with blue-shining balls that hover in the air. The kids leap up to toss them back to forth. One of them almost runs into me before jerking away from me as if I'm toxic or something.

Carriages that look like floating boxes shine with the blue light as they glide in the air down the streets. But almost everyone walks. They're all barefoot. They wear clothes made of the same floaty cloth I've seen everyone. Fae exchange strips of shinning purple metal the size of pencils. It's quieter here than out home, but they shout in that garble-tongued language of theirs I still can't freaking figure out. Fae from the tent-houses sell the colorful fruits from last night, various different objects made out of metal and woven grass, clothing . . . I guess this must be some sort of economic district.

After about half a minute of staring I realize everyone has wings. They're translucent and some of them wear cloth over it, but many of them shake them out and let them rest against their backs. They look like leaves with all the color faded out of them. I don't see anyone using them, so maybe they can't fly . . . ? I glance back at Lila to see if she has them and yelp when someone completely different has taken her place.

"This is what I really look like," the fae behind me says in that familiar, snarky tone. I gulp and nod. She's about six feet tall, a couple inches above me, skeletal-skinny, with point ears and wings that drape over her back. Now she wears the floaty cloth wrapped around her body in a dresslike fashion, and more clothes to imitate loose pants. She's still pretty, I guess, if you go for the 'I'm-a-black-market-slave-trader" thing.

I look back and I start to notice humans everywhere. They dust the streets, they're stitching up floaty cloth in the corners, they're chasing after children and calling in that garbly language. Some of them are walking after fae masters and carrying huge loads of woven baskets. They wear the same kind of clothes as the fae, but each of them have various numbers of piercings on their right ears. None of the fae have pierced ears.

"What do the earrings mean?" I gesture to my own earlobe.

Lila has been watching me as I take it all in. "It denotes the wealth of their owner. The more earrings a slave has, and the material of the piercing, indicates a wealthier owner."

"Owner. Right." I keep on staring. "I thought you said you ran a black market. As in, like illegal."

"The import of slaves is illegal. It is not illegal to own a human."

"Right." I shiver.

Several of the fae have a tattoo in Arabic-esque symbols on their arms, maybe one out of every hundred I see, and only the adults. I glance back at Lila and see that she has tattoos running all the way up her arms and disappearing into her dress on her back. I'm afraid to ask what it means. The symbols glow slightly with the blue light. I think there are two kinds of magic here; the silver-gray light seems to indicate something less permanent, while I've only seen the blue-gray light in crafted and constantly-in-use things, like the boxcar and the weapons and on the fae's skin. The whole city glows weirdly, although the light is soft enough not to hurt my eyes.

"If you're done gawking," Lila says, "I would prefer for us to be on our way."

I nod and follow her down the street. People part in her way like she's someone important (or scary). It must be the tattoos. I want to walk next to her and demand a bunch of questions, but I don't think that's allowed. Whenever I try to move up the other two fae with us glower at me. We soon get stuck in crowds. I consider slipping off then turn that idea down. If she tries to force me into something I don't want to do, I can just die. It's kind of sad that's my solution to everything. As soon as I see what she wants, I'll either give it to her so she stops bothering me, or if it's something I don't want to do I'll find a way out of here.

In the middle of the street a few hundred feet up is a floating stage. My skin crawls when I process the scene in front of me. A female fae stands on the stage, shouting something while the crowd watches. A few dozen humans without earrings are crowded on the stage behind her. One of them steps forward and she shouts something.

It's like something out of a movie about the American slave trade, except I've never seen any human about to be sold off to be so freaking happy. They're grinning, a smile that goes all the way up to their eyes, as if they couldn't be happier about their rights being taken away. I glance around and my stomach clenches. None of the humans look unhappy to be here. It's like they've all been . . . brainwashed.

I glare at Lila's back. What the hell are they doing to these people?

After about ten minutes of us walking the crowds starts to thin. The tent-houses things start to have closed walls instead of the bared-shell ones of the more economic district. There are fewer fae on the metal paths above us. I watch the paths a bit more to see how they get on and off. They just reach up and touch the air below the path, and then shimmery blue light wafts down, and then their bodies rise up. To get down they just jump. I see humans getting up and down from the paths, so I guess it would be possible for me to use them, too.

As we walk, the house-tents get spaced farther apart and larger. Some of them have yards of tiny pebbles, like Japanese rock gardens except glowing purple and sandier in texture. A boxcar thing passes above us, and I see fae peering out windows, like they're riding on the bus or something. The children here come in smaller gangs.

We finally stop walking in front of a tent-house almost the size of Park County High School. It's made of several tents all connected to each other and towering above me. It even has a wire gate and a tunnel made of twisted dark ivy leading up to the first tent.

"My humble abode," Lila says, smirking as the human phrase rolls off her tongue.

"Holy shit," I say.

A human opens the gate for us. She grins like this is her favorite thing to do in the world. Shit, what the hell are they doing to these people?

We walk along the tunnel of dark ivy for about ten seconds before arriving at the door. There's yet another human at the door, a little boy a couple years younger than Karen. He's practically jumping with delight. I imagine my sister in his place and shiver again.

Inside the house-tent-thing has towering walls decorated with painted threads. Lights hover in the air above us, twisting the shadows of the room. Curtains nestle in the makeshift doorways. Blankets provide flooring. The smell of something sweet frying makes my mouth water. It's surprisingly homey for the lair of an evil fairy. Then a girl in her late teens runs through the room with a tray containing several bowls, somehow managing not to spill one. She offers a bowl to each one of us. The fae decline but I pick one up and examine it. It appears to be made out of woven grass. The contents are clear, like water, but when I sniff it the cloyingly sweet smell kicks my gag reflex into gear.

"That's extremely alcoholic," Lila says. "It barely affects us fae, but I advise you not to drink it if you want to be coherent for the next several days."

I gingerly place the bowl back on the tray. The human girl bows and steps back. Her hair is shaved down to her scalp and she has six piercings running up her right ear, all made of a dull-green-gray metal. She also isn't wearing much in the way of clothing, barely enough to be decent. I manage not to be distracted because she's little more than an anorexic stick.

"Hi," I say.

She smiles at me and says something in the fae's language.

"Um."

"Don't talk to her," Lila says, and flicks her wrist. Then the girl says something to her.

Lila curses. Even if I can't understand the words, the tone is the same regardless of language. Then she follows the girl through one of the curtains and leaves me standing there with the two other fae.

I stand there awkwardly for a second. Once again, I consider running off. Once again I decide against it. Because honestly, what can she do to me?

"S'up?" I say to one of the fae next to me, the taller one with broader wings and spiked-up blond hair. He glowers at me. The other fae, a female, I think (it's hard to tell when they're so skinny) just stares.

"Um, I'm Kenny."

They don't say anything. I glance around the room. Several thick blankets have been stacked on top of each other. I imagine it's the fae equivalent of a couch and sit on it. The other two fae continue to glower at me. I consider making conversation.

Lila comes back, running her fingers through her long hair. "The Aliesh simply cannot decide where he wants to distribute. That's the sixth letter I've sent him about his location," she complains. "Frieh, Alow, have you been acquainted with Kenny?"

"Yes," the male replies in extremely choked English. I glare at him.

"Who are they?"

"Frieh and Alow are my advisors," she says. "When you're as rich as me, you can afford them. So, Kenny. We are here to talk about what I need from you."

She sits down next to me, a little too close.

"I think I've said this before, but I'm going to clarify. You are mine. Whatever I want, you will do."

_Yeah, sure, whatever you say, lady. _

"And don't make that expression, either," she says, smirking. "Just because you're a pseudo-immortal doesn't mean we can't hurt you. I've already had Galin perform surveillance on you. You have three siblings, two parents, and that blond-haired female friend of yours seems pretty helpless."

My shoulders tense up. Shit. I didn't even think about that. Whenever freaks like this try to get me to do what they want, they usually threaten me, no one else. Lila is the first one to know I won't care how much they threaten me personally.

"Don't fucking touch them," I say in a low voice.

She ruffles my hair. "If you do what I say, I won't have to."

I can't do what she wants. She's a slave-trading monster. I can't . . . I can't . . .

My shoulders slump. "Okay, what the fuck do you want? Let's get this over with."

"It won't be that easy, Kenny-dearest." She continues to pet at my hair in an extremely disorienting way. The movement feels good on my scalp, but at the same time the icy sense of otherness her body gives off makes me want to run away screaming.

"See, I have a job for you. A job that will turn out to be more of an occupation rather than a simple, easy-to-fulfill task."

My skin turns to ice, but I keep my expression flat. "Go on."

"You might have noticed, but all the human slaves working here are brainwashed." She nestles up next to me and continues to pet at me, like I'm a fucking cat or something. "This is very difficult process that requires a certain type of hypnosis. Unfortunately, this hypnosis is language-based. It can't cross the language barrier - hell, it doesn't even work on different dialects. To hypnotize a group of people, one can only talk to them in their language, say, English. And your human tongues are so damn different from ours and they're all so different from each other. It took me twenty years to become fluent in English because of how differently Lyah - that's the language is this part of the country - is from your human languages. I have translators that can speak Hindu, and one that can speak Swahili, but it's not enough. We need to expand."

My mouth goes dry. "Okay," I say. "Do a spell or something."

She shakes her head. "Magic doesn't work like this. If something magical directly affects the mind, it could cause permanent damage. That's why the human slaves we brainwash never recover after two or three weeks under the spell. They stay all-"

"Stoner-high?" I suggest.

"Precisely. They stay like that for the rest of their lives. And that's just a simple hypnosis spell. Language is much more complicating, because it's feeding the brain something new. There are very few language spells written, and only one that will turn an individual into an omniglot - that is, someone who can speak all languages. These spells are written by the fae magicians of the highest order."

"Like, you?"

She laughs. "Oh, I wish! No, I'm not nearly that talented. Those kind of fae are one in a million, and usually crazy. They spend their time thinking up spells and usually end up killing themselves in the process. Then there are the fae like me, the very upper end of the 'normal' bracket, who are very good with magic but poor at writing their own spells. Then there are the normal magic uses who can use simple healing charms and good luck spells without exerting too much energy. Most fae cannot perform magic at all. But the kind of spell I'm talking about, the multiple-language spell, will usually kill any kind of fae."

"Ah," I say. "Um. Okay. Why'd you write it?"

"I didn't write, like I said. The highest magicians wrote it, and some of them can use it, but none of them are interested in working for me and brainwashing humans. Then there are fae of the same power bracket as me, but they are too powerful for me to force into submission without a hell of a fight, and no fae would willingly burn this spell into their flesh. It would probably kill me, you see, which is why I am hesitant to put it on myself. And any fae with less power than me would definitely die if they wrote this spell upon themselves."

"Ah," I say. "Okay. "And your point is . . . ?"

"Humans can perform spells, although they almost certainly die the first time they're written into their flesh."

I get what she's saying, and I really don't like it.

"I'm not helping you brainwash people."

"That's nice." She pats me on the head. "Now, it will most certainly kill you, but this kind of spell doesn't fade from a corpse after death so I believe you will still be able to use it when you come alive."

"I'm not coming here and working for you!" I snarl. "I have my own freaking life back home, and I'm definitely not gonna help you enslave the human race!"

She sniffs. "We only get a shipment twice a week. I would only require your aid at nighttimes on these days. For the rest of the time you may remain in the human world. We will not even take any slaves from your tiny little town. This is quite a good deal for you, and I'm only offering it because I suspect you can just 'accidently' die every time I try to make you work for me unless I supply you with incentive."

I stare at her.

She's got it all planned out, doesn't she?

"I'm not helping you enslave people," I whisper.

"You don't really have a choice," she says. Then she claps her hands. Two symbols on her arms glow. Some invisible force knocks me onto my back. It feels like bonds tie my wrists and legs into the ground, even though there's nothing there but air. I try to wriggle but can't move. She towers over me. Frieh and Alow watch with disinterest.

"First of all, let's remind you what you really are," she murmurs. She wiggles her fingers and her hand glows silver. A knife appears in her palms. She reaches up and grabs me by the chin, pressing my head back. I glare up at her and don't say anything.

"I do hope this will stick even after you die." And then she goes to work with her knife, cutting out locks of my hair, shaving it down to an uneven, choppy fuzz.

Bebe loves my hair. She likes to play with it and compare it to hers. Christophe loves to make fun of my hair for being so freaking lanky and girly. I don't say anything, just close my eyes.

When she's done, she admires her handiwork. I open my eyes again in time to see the knife disappear and a pile of dull gray-green earrings come in existence in her palm.

"No," I say.

"That's nice," she says, and proceeds to stab them through my earlobe. She's not at all nice about it, drawing blood and making me hiss in pain. It takes too long, far too long, and the whole time I want to kill the fucking bitch on top of me. I've never wanted to kill anyone so much before in my entire life.

"Perfect," she says when she's done, and kisses my ear. "These will definitely stick, too, because there's a spell on them that they can't even be removed from the dead, how about that?"

I close my eyes. "Just fucking get this over with." And I wonder how I'm supposed to explain this to my mom, to Christophe, who will probably know exactly what it means, and I wonder what the hell I've gotten myself into. Because I'm not a slave. I'm not fucking brainwashed. And I don't work for her. I'm fucking Kenny McCormick and I do not belong to anyone.

And now she snaps her fingers and a flame bursts onto her index finger. "Open your mouth," she orders.

I stare up at her. "Fucking hell no-"

"I said open your mouth," she says, and her symbols glow and the invisible forces cram my mouth open. I try to close it but can't, can't do anything but scream wordlessly as her hand draws nearer to my face. Fuck pride. I scream bloody murder and I beg as best as I can with just sound.

She ignores me.

The flame sears into my tongue. I scream even louder, trying to bite down on her fingers but unable to. The pain blinds me, sets every nerve up in sparks, eats away at logic until all I can think is get this out of me, get this out of me, fucking get this out of me! And it goes on and on until tears run down my cheeks and I can't even make a noise anymore as she carves letters into my flesh.

She pulls her hand back, climbs off me, and the invisible bonds disappear. I roll into a ball, burying my face into my knees and rocking back and forth. A new pain sweeps over me, a sick, nauseating one I feel down to the bone. I know it's the spell taking over me, infecting every inch of my skin. My mind goes blank from the white agony. Everything starts to fade away as I die.

* * *

><p>I wake up without remembering my visit to Hell. My mouth is still on fire. I run for my bathroom and gag down as much water as possible, which only makes it hurt worse. I tip my head back and stare at my mouth in the mirror. The lettering carved into it is vaguely Arabic in nature.<p>

Is it working? I don't feel any different. Then I catch sight of the rest of my face. My haircuts always affect me after I die, so I'm still shaved nearly bald. The earrings remain. It looks like I haven't slept in a week, and my terrified face stares back at me. I've died three times in the last day or so. My arms ache from exhaustion. All I want to do is pass out. I look like a completely different person.

I stagger back to my bed, sit down, and pull my knees up to my chest. What the fuck have I gotten myself into?

"Kenny?" Bebe's voice. I sit up and start to look for something to put on my upper body. "Kenny? Where are you?"

"My room-" I try to croak out, except talking makes my mouth flame up and the pain triple, so I stop.

"Dude, why'd you skip school today of all days?" Her voice draws nearer to my room. "You know you've got a gig in, like, twenty fucking minutes, and I said I'd drive you there-" She stops when she enters my room. She stares at me for a bit. "What the fuck did you do?"

"Got high. Can't remember much of it," I hiss out.

"You fucking idiot. How the hell are you supposed to accomplish anything - oh, nevermind. Karen said she's watch Kieran while you're out. It's almost seven, let's go!"

I barely have time to grab my electric guitar before she snatches my wrist up and drags me out of the house. Christophe is waiting in the front passenger seat of her Subaru. He freezes up when she sees me.

"What ze fuck," he says, but by the way he's eyeing me I can tell he knows, or at least suspects.

"Kenny's a fucking stoner, that's what happened," Bebe mumbles, climbing into the driver's seat. She starts up the car and we roar off. I clutch my guitar to my chest, trying to process everything happening around me and miserably failing.

"You look-" His eyes run over me. I half-hide behind my guitar. "'Igh off your ass," he manages.

I shrug.

Maybe he doesn't make the connection. Maybe it was dark the last time he was over in the fae world or something. I don't even freaking know how he knows anything about the fae world or what he did there or why they all hate him. Maybe he doesn't know about the earrings thing, especially since I have so many. Maybe he doesn't think I could possibly be over here if I was captured by them.

I want to explain it to him so freaking badly, and get some - get some freaking help.

Except he can't know about what I just agreed to. That I agreed to help a ruthless bitch like Lila enslave innocents. Besides, what could he do to help? I'm the only one who can get myself out of this.

I'm such a fucking idiot.

"Yeah," I stammer out, trying to get past how much it hurts my mouth. "I was pretty nervous so I smoked a couple joints."

They believe me. Of course they believe me.

So Bebe drives me to my gig, which I care so little about at this point it take me the entire drive to remember what songs I'm supposed to be playing.

I move in a blur. The birthday party is outside. I'm supposed to be playing on the stage in the middle of everything. There are a dozen tableclothed circular tables set up around me, and a bonfire going to ward off the cold. Everything is staring at me, waiting for some entertainment high-quality entertainment. I only recognize a couple of kids from South Park. Token, who hooked me up with this gig, Red, and Token's friends Craig, Clyde and Jimmy all sit at the same table. I stare at them like the freaking stoner everyone thinks I am for several seconds. The rich kid who hired me, Tony, announces my name and sits down at his table waiting patiently. Christophe and Bebe stand outside the fence and wave at me in what I assume is supposed to be an inspiring manner.

I strum a few chords, then a few more. Then I open my mouth to sing. Only croaking comes out. The guests are whispering among themselves by now. I try again. My mouth feels like it's still on fire.

I hug my guitar to my chest and run.

Bebe and Christophe catch me outside the party near Bebe's car. "Dude, what happened?" she demands.

I shake my head and wipe my eyes, even though I'm not crying. My mouth hurts so much I don't even try to talk.

"I know you can play those songs, like, crazy well, and you, like, never get stage fright." She grabs my arm. I freak out and jerk away. She and Christophe flinch back simultaneously. They both stare at me.

"I need to go home," I mutter. I start to walk down the street.

"I'll drive you! It's like a two miles to the nearest bus station!"

Snowflakes start to powder my hair. "I'll be fine," I call back.

"Kenny, you freaking idiot!" she screams. I look back to see her try and go after me, then Christophe stopping her. I look ahead and keep walking, still hugging my guitar.

And I'm not crying, I swear I'm not. I'm just . . . I'm just really, really screwed.

* * *

><p><strong>HELL YEAH NANOWRIMO 2011!<strong>

**I'm doing the 150,000 word challenge because I'm crazy. You should expect updates every two to three days.**

**Please review. I probably won't be able to reply, but I will read them.**

**Now, excuse me, I have 5,000 more words to write before I go to bed.**


	2. Chapter Two

**So, I could have updated a week ago but I was too lazy to edit for typos. Thank you for alerts/faves/reviews, guys. Please enjoy!**

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><p>Music:<p>

"Runs in the Family" (Amanda Palmer)

"Architects" (Rise Against)

"You're Gonna Go Far, Kid" (Offspring)

* * *

><p>I lie upside down with my knees hooked over the side of my mattress, my back on the floor, staring up at my ceiling. My guitar rests in my arms. I strum at it and it sounds terrible from this position.<p>

It's been two days since Lila dragged me off to her world and killed me with this spell. At first I hoped it was all in vain, but now I know the damn thing actually works. I went to Spanish class yesterday and understood everything the teacher said. It wasn't like she said it in English, it was like I just got it. I even accidentally replied to her with the same fluency before shutting up and pretending to struggle along like everyone else.

The pain in my mouth has faded to a dull ache. It's enough for me to speak with varying results. I try singing again now, making up a little song. I've written lots of songs about girls I know. Here's the one I write about Lila now.

"You cold-hearted evil dyke-

Bringing slavery back like you think it's funny

I would tell you to take a hike-

Or just jump off a cliff, you fucking cu-"

My sister opens my door. I stop singing and stare back at her. Half her fingernails are painted purple. She waves her hands to dry them as she says, "There's some weird guy at the door for you."

My heart sinks. "Is it Christophe?"

"Christophe's not weird, he's hot."

I make a gagging noise and roll to my feet. Karen snickers and skips back to her room. Before I head for the doorway, I scan the house. Kevin is out, probably with his college buddies doing stupid things. Kieran is sleeping softly. I have no idea where our parents are.

"Karen! Watch Kieran!"

"Why don't you?" she whines back, but ferries her supply of nail polish and Teen magazine to his room to sit on Kevin's bed. "Go see who's at the door before they leave," she says.

The guy in the doorway is all human. He has a shaven head and six dark green earrings in his right ear. He smiles at me. A brainwashed slave. One of Lila's, probably.

"Who are you?" I ask, glancing around the neighborhood. It's almost eight at night, and the recent freeze and subsequent snowfall has sent everyone in doors.

"I'm Reil, pleased to meet you!" He bows deeply and stands up straight. It takes me half a second to realize he's spoken in the garbly fae language, Lyah. And it freaks me out when I automatically reply in the same language.

"Does . . . Does Lila want you?"

"Mistress has requested your presence," he says, still grinning.

"Um. Kay." Fuck.

It takes a minute for me to switch my brain to English. "Karen, I'm going out. Don't burn the house down!" I call into the house. I wonder idly if I should bring anything, but Riel doesn't seem like he wants to wait. I follow him out into the street. He takes a too-fast pace on the way to the portal. I have to jog to keep up with him.

"Hey, dude," I say outside the alley on Fifth and Grant, "do you ever think about escape?"

He smiles at me, showing off his teeth. "Why would I ever think about something as silly as that?"

I blink. "Um. It's silly?"

"Why of course. I am perfectly happy serving as my mistresses' servant. Why would I ever want to be anything else?"

I start to pant a little as he almost jogs down the alley. We step through the portal without fanfare. It still screws with my senses to see the scenery change within a second. He just keeps on walking. It's the middle of the night here. I have long since stopped trying to figure out how the time here relates to the time in our world.

"Yeah, but if you lived in the human world you could, like, see your family again."

"My entire biological family lives in the world of the fae," he says. He's not out of breath at all. Bastard. "However, my true family is my mistress and mistress alone. I have no need for anyone else."

"Wait, your biological family lives in the fae world? Did they capture all of you or something?" I'm pretty much huffing by now. He walks so fast we're almost to the crest of the hill within about five minutes.

"No." He shrugs. "I was born here."

"You were born here." Suddenly it makes sense to me how importing slaves can be illegal yet there are so many of them here. Obviously, not all of them are black-market slaves. Some of them were born in this world. They're a second generation of brainwashed workers. I clench my fists.

Riel doesn't seem to want to talk much, and as he picks up the pace I'm too out of breath to keep chattering at him. We pass through the fields of the tall-grass-plant-fruit things.

"Hey, Riel, what are these things?"

"This is Yalyrow. It is the staple crop of our society. We have not yet developed machines to help us harvest the fruit, which will be ripe in a few weeks, so us human servants must be the ones to gather the fruit," he says with that same pleasant smile.

"Um. So, like rice crops or something when, um, Americans enslaved black people a couple hundred years or something, except not year round . . . ? Or something . . . ?"

"I do not know what that means."

We approach the twisted-metal gate up ahead. Two fae stand outside it, each with glowing blue-gray symbols on their hands, seemingly as guards. Riel reaches down into the collar of his shirt and pulls out a woven piece of purple metal on a cord around his neck. The guards touch the gate and it starts to fade out of existence.

"You need a pass to get into the city?" I ask.

"Ever since the break in of two weeks ago, the guards have required one," he says.

"The break in?"

"Yes," he says.

"Um, was it any chance by a scruffy, short guy with a shovel and a blond, super-gay looking guy with a sword?"

"Why, yes, two humans bearing a shovel and a sword were responsible for the break in."

We step through the invisible gate and into the city. Riel gestures for me to take off my shoes. I really don't want to loose a good pair of shoes, but I figure I'll loose them anyway when I die so I kick them off and leave them. I keep a ready supply of cheap, closed-toed sandals at home that I wear around unless I'm going to a formal event. This is because my shoes do not replace themselves when I die, although my jeans, shirt and parka always do.

"What'd they do? The two humans?"

"I believe they broke into the warehouses and stole something."

This time of night, all the tent-houses are closed up with the cloth covering their bare metal walls. There aren't any fae on the streets, although a couple humans do wander around carrying various items. It's so quiet I'm tempted to scream just to break the tension.

"What'd they steal?"

Riel glances back at me and flashes a smile. "Why, they stole a human."

They rescued someone. My heart rate picks up.

We jog through the city. I expect Riel to take me back to Lila's mansion, but instead we end up in a huge lot containing various warehouses. We appear to be in some sort of downtown area. I smell salt.

"Are we near the sea?"

He blinks. "The underground lake is a mile or so from here. What is this thing you call a 'sea'?"

I realize the word doesn't translate into Lyah.

". . . never mind."

The warehouse we approach towers above our heads. It looks more like a traditional building back in the human world than the tents I've seen here. It's long, long enough that I can't see the end in the dark.

Riel pulls a glowing rock for his pocket and holds it in front of the door. The door sighs and disappears. We step through. The door reappears behind us. The dim light makes me blink a million times to try and adjust. Then Riel opens another door leading into the main body of the warehouse and I feel like I'm going to be sick.

The lights here are shadowed. The whole room is smoky. Pipes belch heat and smoke into the room. Straw lies haphazardly on the dirt floor. And the whole room is filled with cages upon cages of humans, locked up in rows like animals at a slaughter.

I grit my teeth and cover my mouth with my hand to try and keep from vomiting. On the first six or so rows of the room, the humans are screaming and sobbing and holding each other. They vary in age from toddler to the elderly. Children scream for their parents but they're alone. They're all crammed with eight or nine in a cage, female and males in different cages, not even enough room to sit. They all wear filthy, everyday clothing, and some of them look like they haven't been fed in weeks. It takes me a second to realize I shouldn't understand them, because some part of my brain informs me they're speaking Russian.

The other side of the room is somehow worse.

There is about the same number of people - although the majority of this crowd appears to be snatched from some Latin America country. There aren't many of the elderly, and I don't want to think about what happened to some of the older people in this group. They wear fae clothing and they all have shaved heads. None of them are talking. They're just smiling. Like they've already been brainwashed.

"What the fuck is going on here?" I breathe to Riel, but he's already bowing and stepping back as another human comes up to me.

This new human is in his middle-thirties, my height or a few inches taller, with skin so pale it almost gleams in the obscure light. His hair is just as short as mine and he bears the same six earrings.

"Riel," he says, in short, clipped Lyah. "I can take over now. You're off for the night."

"Have fun!" Riel says, and skips off out the door. I stare at him, then turn back to stare at the newcomer.

"I'm Jea," he says, holding out his hand. "You must be the dying kid, Kenny McCormick, right? I would say it's a pleasure to meet you, but I don't care much regardless. Mistress informed me I'm to show you around and help you get accustomed to your job."

I shake hands with him, my mouth still open. Then I manage, "What the fuck is going on here?" It's a repeat, but Jea is much more capable of answering.

"It's the holding place where Mistress keeps the humans fresh from the human world," he says. "Also where we brainwash them and where we hold them before the sale. They're usually kept here for about a couple weeks before they get to be brainwashed, and usually by that time it's a relief to finally stop caring about everything. Brainwashing is such a harsh word. Lirat, our spellcaster, likes to use the word 'Influence,' or 'Hypnotize'. It's still brainwashing. Any questions?"

I stare. "Um . . . you're not like the rest of them."

"No, I still have most of my brain," he agrees. "Mistress likes to keep a couple of intelligent humans around to reassure the new ones." He nods to the cages full of screaming humans. "I'm a fourth generation slave, which means my family's been here for approximately. It also means the brainwashing doesn't work as well on us. We've built up an immunity to it."

"So why are you still here?"

He shrugs.

"You can't like working for . . . this."

"No," he agrees. "I can't. And neither can you."

I guess his reasons are too complex and varied for me to ever be able to decipher.

Fae start to unlock the cages of the Russian humans. They prod them into line and force them to stagger down the rows towards a stage at the end of the line of cages.

"Come on." Jea waves his hand and I follow him.

The Russian humans are shoved into a pen in front of the stage with chain fences about six feet high. They're screaming the standard 'WHAT THE FUCK IS GOING ON?' and I have a gut feeling that I know. I freaking know what's going to happen next. The fae guards mill around the humans, holding more of the blue-glowy staff things. Jea leads me up onto the stage. Another fae stands on the stage, a female one with abnormally long fingers and a face painted with purple. There are symbols on her arm, the same symbol repeated over and over again.

"That's Lirat. All her symbols are the same because she can only do one type of magic, the brainwashing spell." Jea hugs himself. "She could add more but it's physically draining to sustain that many spells, and she doesn't need anymore. Hey, Lirat."

She scowls at him. I wonder what fae think about humans that can snark.

"Hey, Lirat," I echo.

I get a sneer instead. Score.

"We have a couple different translators, all fae. They can't speak the other languages very well because it takes fae such a long time to learn human tongues. It would take me a while too, I guess. I can only speak Lyah. Anyway, our translator Iri didn't come tonight because Mistress wanted to test you out, make sure that freaky ass spell worked on you and everything. Can I see your tongue?"

"Uh . . . " His question throws me off guard. "Sure. I guess." I stick it out and he peers at me.

"Woah. It's kind of glowing. Is that because you're speaking Lyah right now? Weird. What's it like to die?"

Even Lirat looks at me when he asks.

"Uh," I say. "Painful. Really painful. And Hell is boring."

"You go to Hell?"

"Only Mormons go to heaven. But it doesn't matter; they're both boring. And it sucks to be dead. You can't think right." I shiver. "It's better to be alive. Can I, like, not talk about this?"

"Sure," he agrees. "I'm only your tour guide."

The guards finish cramming the humans into the pen below us. They stare up at me, whimpering amongst themselves. Several of them beg at me for help.

"Save my sissy!" one of the little boys screams from the far corner of the pen. He holds up a toddler who's sobbing in his arms. "She needs to get back to momma so she can take her medicine!"

I clench my fists and hate Lila for a few seconds.

"Why do they capture the little kids, too?"

"Some children are sold as pets." Jea is looking down at the mass of humans, but not really seeing them. I can tell from the glazed-over look to his eyes. "Some of them are put to work at simpler tasks so they can grow up in the household. Sometimes they're served as gourmet meals."

It takes a second for my brain to piece together what he's said. "You're shitting me."

He shakes his head.

I drop my head into my arms. This is so fucked up. I can't deal with this. I can't fucking deal with this. What the hell have I gotten myself into?

I need to stop this. I need to stop Lila somehow. I need to -

She can send her guards after my family at any second.

A warm hand grips my shoulder. I turn back to look at Jea.

"Don't think about it," he says. "Pretend."

I jerk my head up and down. I will do something. _I will fucking do something._ I'm not going to lie down and pretend. I'm going to fight somehow. I will. _I will._

The symbols on Lirat's arms are glowing blue-gray, which I think means whatever spell she's about to cast will be long lasting.

"She has to refresh them in a few weeks. After that, they stick forever." There's a hint of bitterness in Jea's voice. He gives me a sarcastic smile.

The humans below us are shrieking in fear now. The little boy keeps on crying for me to help his sister. I close my eyes.

_I will help you_, I think. Somehow, I will help you. _I fucking swear it._

_. . . I just can't right now._

I have to play by their rules for my own family. As much as they annoy me, I . . . I can't imagine Karen or Kieran or even my asshole of an older brother Kevin locked up in this place . . . my freaking parents . . . I can't.

"Repeat what I say," Lirat says. I open my eyes.

"Word for word. In the language these humans speak. If you make any flaws, I will know. Then we will have to do it all over again, and I will tell Lilanya, and she will make sure your family suffers the consequences."

I nod again. Lilanya must be Lila's real name.

The blue-gray shimmery light falls over the crowd of humans. As it thickens to a fog, they stop screaming and stare up at us in a daze.

"Obey," Lirat says.

It takes a second to adjust my brain to Russian, but I manage to fumble with the words.

"Obey."

"Smile," she says.

"Smile," I repeat.

"You are happy to be here."

"You are happy to be here."

"You are happy to serve."

_What the fuck are you saying? Listen to yourself, listen to yourself, fucking listen to yourself! You're helping them you're helping these monsters YOU'RE HELPING THEM HURT PEOPLE!_

_Karen. Kieran. Kevin._ I turn off the part of my brain that tries to protest, and keep repeating what Lirat says.

"You want to help."

"You belong to your master."

"Obey and smile and serve. Obey and smile and serve. Obey and smile and serve."

"Why would you ever want to belong anywhere else?"

The fog dissipates. The humans stare up at us, unblinking, not saying a word.

The guards unlock the pen and begin to lead the humans to another section of the warehouses, closed-off by a sheet. I stare after them for a few seconds.

Lirat's symbols stop glowing. She sits on the stage and breathes heavily.

Jea doesn't stop infodumping.

"Now they're going to get their heads shaved and a bath and their clothing replaced. Then they'll be lead back to their cages and be judged one by one to where they should be sold. Most of them will work in the agricultural industry. The ones destined for consumption will start to be fattened up. Noble fae will examine humans for pets. The ones not chosen will go on the auction blocks in a week or so. The ones considered unfit for any of these options-"

"Jea?"

"Shut up."

We stand there in silence for a few seconds. None of the humans in the other cages make a sound. They just stand there, smiling at us.

I have to know.

"What happens to the ones considered unfit for . . . selling, or whatever?"

He drags his finger across his throat.

* * *

><p>I don't remember much of the walk home. I do remember Jea giving me a stone so I can get into the city and the warehouse on my own. It will heat up whenever Lila requires my services. He warns me not to die with it because it will not come back with me.<p>

I climb through my window and pass out on the floor at about five-thirty in the morning. My alarm goes off less then an hour later, sending me into a cursing fit. That morning is a blur, too. I drink an entire pot of coffee before Bebe came to pick me up. I don't speak a single word to anyone that day, but neither Christophe nor Bebe notice my silence because they're arguing over the new _Tron_ movie. I sit with the guys at lunch, but they're used to me not talking. That night I sit in my room, staring up at the ceiling. My guitar lies on my mattress next to me. I don't even make an attempt to play it.

_Hey, what would you guys say if you knew I helped hundreds of people loose their minds forever today? If I helped a bunch of psychopaths enslave them, to strip away their freedom as individuals and human beings? What would you say, guys? What would you say if you knew how I afraid I am? _

I don't know who I'm thinking it to, and so after a while I go to sleep.

When I wake up the next morning the world makes slightly more sense. Ten hours of sleep does that for a person. It's Friday, and I haven't done any of my homework for the entire week, but I pack up my things for school anyway. After a few seconds of hesitation, I slip my acoustic guitar into its case and throw it over my shoulder. North Park High School lets its students play instruments in the courtyard as long as they don't get too loud, and I have my off period with Bebe. I need something to give me an excuse to hold no part in a conversation with her.

I stay awake during Algebra and even take some notes, even though I'm probably going to fail the test next Tuesday because I have no idea what we're even learning. During our off period, Bebe and I sit on the stairs outside the gymnasium. It's freezing cold outside and we have to clear away the snow for a patch of cement to flop ourselves onto. We're wrapped up in a dozen layers each and the air freezes our lungs, but since the sun's out we can pretend it's kind of warm.

She leans against a pillar and talks while I fiddle with my guitar. My fingers almost freeze off but I keep strumming. I'm so absorbed with ' Not Paying Attention, Not Doing Anything, and Certainly Not Thinking About the Fucked Up Things I Let The Fae Terrorize Me Into Doing' that I don't even notice Bebe snapping her fingers in front of me until she says, "Kenny? Kennnnny? Hello? Earth to Kenny?"

I pull my hood off, even though my head immediately starts to freeze. "Sorry, what?"

"Weren't you listening?"

"Not at all."

She rolls her eyes. "I was telling you, I have a date tonight."

"You do? Cool. Why didn't you tell me earlier?"

"I did. I told you yesterday. You were just asleep, like, all of yesterday, so I figured you didn't remember."

"Yeah. I didn't. So. Um." I guess it'll take my mind off the fae world and the fucking brainwashing. "Who is she?"

"Red."

I blink. "Red?" I barely know her, other than the fact that's she's on the soccer team and her nickname derives from her dyed-crimson short hair. I didn't know Bebe knew her, either. "How'd that happen?"

"I talked with her the night of Tony's party, after you . . . you know. She said she was sorry that had happened to you. Said stage fright screws with everyone. Then she and I started talking about Beatles songs, since you were going to play those, and then it turns out she watches _Gossip Girl_, too-"

_Gossip Girl_ is Bebe's absolute favorite show on earth, despite obsessing over nerd-fests like _World of Warcraft_ and _Star Trek_ and _Tron._

"So we talked and I realized I had AP Spanish with her so yesterday during Spanish class we were having one-on-one conversations for a conversation assignment and she asked me out and I thought she was joking and then she said it in English and I knew she wasn't joking and we're going to dinner at Olive Garden and then back to her place to watch reruns of _Gossip Girl_ together and hopefully make brownies and she's paying and yeah."

I stare at her for about twenty seconds. My brain clicks into overdrive and I manage to sludge through everything she says.

"Uh . . . cool?"

"Yeah. Very cool."

"I didn't know she was gay."

Bebe shrugs. "I'm so incredibly hot all the girls are lesbian for me."

"You're like Shane from _The L Word,_ except femme-er."

She snickers. I admit I started watch _The L Word_, this stupid lesbian soap opera, about two or three years ago, because I wanted to see girl-on-girl sex. But then I got sucked into the cliched romantic plotlines. And it became my guilty pleasure. I cried when Shane and Carmen broke up. (WHY? THEY WERE THE BEST COUPLE EVER! WHY?). When Bebe found out I liked _The L Word_, she made fun of me for days on end. Then she started watching it with me, and it became our shared guilty pleasure.

"So. Um. Good luck with her?"

"Yeah. I'm nervous. Haven't been with anyone since Kylie." She doesn't like to talk about Kylie.

"Kay."

I realize I'd normally make a joke about lesbians and maybe ask her to take pictures or something. She's staring at me like both my eyes have fallen out.

"You're distracted today. And yesterday. And the day before," she says finally.

"Oh? Hmm. Oh yeah." I grab up my guitar and start rocking out the C and G and A chords.

"Reeeed . . . oh Reeeeeed . . . you are a lesssssbbiiiaaan

Playing soccer and watching _Gossip Girl_, kind of a confusing mix, but . . .

So is _Tron _and _Gossip Girl_ . . .

Reeeeed . . . oh Reeeeed . . . you are a lesssssbiiiiaaan

Falling for Bebe's rockin' tits

Which will no guy will ever get to touch, especially not me, which is kind of sad, but

That's okay, because you two will generate more lesbians for the world . . .

And lesbians make the world a happier place . . .

Reeeed . . . oh Reeeeeeed . . . you are a lesssssssbiiiiaaaan . . .

Hurt Bebe like the last bitch and you will fucking die-"

I slam down on the B minor cord and my guitar screeches. Bebe is in hysterics by now, laughing so hard I'm afraid she's going to throw up.

"What's 'appening, beetches?"

Christophe drops down next to us, his shovel swinging over his back. Other students are streaming through the courtyard. Third-period must have ended, which means I need to run off to Field Biology. I start packing my guitar up while Bebe chokes out an answer.

"Kenny . . . sang me a song . . . "

"Right." Christophe eyes me. "'Ow 'ave you been? You 'ave been kind of . . . what do you Americans say? 'Out of eet?"

I swing my backpack over my shoulder and avoid his stare. "Just been tired," I mutter. "Lot of coursework."

"I see."

"Gotta get to Calculus! See ya after school!" Bebe bounds through the courtyard and for the double-doors of the math wing of the school. We watch her go. Then Christophe turns to me.

"'Ow 'ave you been?" He repeats, except this time, he adds a glare. He pulls a cigarette from his pocket and lights it up, because he is such a nonconformist the school has stopped trying to get him to stop smoking.

"Okay."

"Tell ze fucking truth."

The wave of students around us dies down when the tardy bell rings. Two minutes to get to class.

"Okay," I repeat, then shrug. "It's just . . . I have a lot of . . . " I scrabble for an acceptable lie. "I've just been freaked out since Sunday night when I saw those people get kidnapped. And I don't know what happened to them or if I'm sure they're okay, you know? And it's not like I can go to the police and tell them, oh, these monsters with apparently magical powers captured them. So. Yeah. I've been freaked out."

Christophe bobs his head up and down. "I need to talk to you," he says.

"We're talking." The bell for the start of class rings. _Shit_. The last few students scamper for their classrooms, leaving Christophe and me alone in the courtyard.

"After school. In more private. Eet ees too open 'ere, _oui_?" He shakes his head.

Gregory comes up from out of the math wing of the school and walks over to us. He looks like a fairly normal kid; really gay blond haircut, pale skin, taller and skinnier than me. I also know he wields a gun and a sword like a pro, regularly whores himself and Christophe out as mercenaries in various political missions and personal ones for monetary gain, and is somehow involved with Christophe rescuing a human from the fae world several weeks ago.

He nods at me. I wonder if Christophe has told him about me visiting him Sunday night to try to get his help.

"We need to go to PE," he tells Christophe.

"_Oui."_ Christophe nods again. "Kenny, we will go over to Bebe's 'ouse after school, _oui_? To 'elp 'er prepare for 'er 'big date' or somezing. And talk about zings."

I nod. Christophe follows Gregory off. A few hundred feet away Gregory glances back at me, which makes me shiver. He knows something. They both know something big they're not telling me.

And I know something big I'm not telling them.

* * *

><p>After school at Bebe's house, we are quickly sucked into a whirlwind of 'which shirt looks better?' and 'is this too much cleavage? Or not enough?" ("Not enough," I say, which makes her throw her pillow at me and disappear back into her closet, which is the size of my bedroom at home).<p>

To counteract all the girliness, Christophe and I watch _Family Guy _on her TV, lounge on her pink-covered bed, and pretend to do our World History homework, though we both know we're going to save all our homework for Sunday night, as usual. Then Bebe gets mad at Christophe for smoking in her house, and they argue, and then Bebe's mom calls for her and she runs downstairs.

I expect Christophe to start talking to me about the fae, but instead he says, "Want to search zrough 'er underwear drawer?" And so we do. By time Bebe is back upstairs in her room, we have already located her black lacy bras, panties, and a sizable porn stash that rivals my own.

She squeals and attacks us. The three of us wrestle on her bed until she has me pinned and promising never to do it again. When she lets me up I point out that I wasn't the one who came up with the plan this time, it was all Christophe's fault. So she throws another pillow at him and flits back into her closet. She feels sorry enough to let me look through her porn magazines. Christophe and I ooh over the lesbians together. Then I come across a yaoi hentai book and start to gag.

"My eyes!" I throw it across the bedroom. It hits the far wall and slides down to the carpet. "I thought you were one hundred percent carpet eater!"

"I am!" she yells back.

"Then why the gay porn? But not the good kind of gay porn! The _guy-on-guy_ _porn_?"

"It's hot!"

"I don't get that at all!"

"I do." Christophe picks the book up and crosses back to her bed. He starts to flick through it, smirking to himself. Shit, I forget he swings both ways.

"You have good taste," he informs her as she emerges from her closet with a tight long-sleeved shirt, skinny jeans, high heels, and her favorite jacket thrown over her arm.

"Oh, god." I roll over and bury my head into the mattress. "I'm the only straight one here. Fuck me in the ass."

"You are not my type," Christophe says with absolute seriousness. I make barfing noises.

"What'd your mom want?" I ask, rolling over to face her again.

"She wanted to tell me she was going to the store," she says. "Which is good, because I won't have to awkwardly say Red is my 'friend.'" She applies her mascara with the care of a painter on a blank canvas.

"You could just come out to her."

"That's nice, Kenny. Because a white trash inbred mountain town is the perfect place to be openly lesbian."

"Just to your mom."

"She's a blab and an idiot."

Both Christophe and I wince. We really don't like to listen to Bebe talk about her mom.

Fortunately, the doorbell rings. She squeaks and drops her mascara. "Oh, god, that must be here! Go tell her I'll be down in a minute! Please!"

We glance at each other, groan in mock-horror, and head downstairs. Sure enough, Red is at the door. She's dolled up in a dress shirt, her hair spiked and gelled into perfect mess, holding a bouquet of flowers and looking incredibly awkward. I didn't realize how butch she was before; she's skinny and wears enough makeup to blend in with the other girls.

"Um, hi," she says.

Christophe and I just look at her.

"Um, I must have the wrong house. Um-"

"Bebe will be down in a minute," he says.

"Oh. Um. Okay."

He steps up to the door until he's only a few inches from her.

"Now, listen," he says in a low voice. "She's been 'urt before by cocksucking beetches, and I am not going to let eet 'appen again. So if you dare do anyzing to make 'er cry, my shovel and your ribs are going to become well-acquainted."

Red gulps and turns pale.

He steps back. "_C'est compris_?" he says pleasantly.

"Christophe, what the hell are you doing?" Bebe jumps down the stairs, slinging her purse over her shoulders, and half-skips over the door. She grins at Red, says, "hey," and smiles at us, showing enough teeth for me to know she's terrified.

"'Ave fun," Christophe says.

"Practice safe sex," I add.

She pretends to hit me with her handbag. "I'm sorry," she mutters to Red. "They're both really, really stupid. They inhaled a lot of paint fumes as a child. Let's go."

We wave goodbye to her as they walk out to Red's Toyota Truck, just to annoy her. Then Christophe shuts the door and we lean back, grinning at each other.

"I feel like 'er goddamn fazzer," he says.

"Me too."

"We're gay parents," he informs me, which makes me shudder.

"Dude, if I was going to go gay for any guy, it wouldn't be with you."

"You don't find me attractive enough?" he says with mock horror. "Who, then?"

"What? I don't know. I haven't thought about it." I feel like this going to bite me in the ass later.

"You are being ridiculous. I am everyone's type," he informs me, smirking. Then he sobers up. "I said earlier zat I needed to talk to you."

I stop smiling. With all the fun of teasing Bebe, I've forgotten. "Yeah," I mutter. Part of me wants to get out of this. Part of me could really use any information Christophe has to offer. "We need to talk."

"Zis place ees unsecured. My 'ouse?"

Bebe's place is only about two blocks from Christophe's. The weather has turned evil enough in the last few hours for us to huddle up in our jackets and not say anything to each other until we've climbed up to Christophe's window. We're quiet enough his mom probably doesn't even know we're here. I strip off my parka and flop back on his bed, closing my eyes. He shrugs his shovel off, places it against the wall, and locks the window and door with a deadbolt. Then he takes fives minutes to check the room for bugs. I wait patiently while he goes through his drawers and unscrews and rescrews the light bulb.

Finally, he sits down next to me. "We are safe to talk," he says.

"Kay."

"I want to talk to you about ze inhuman creatures you saw zat night. You say ze memory of zem 'as been bozzering you,_ oui_?"

I nod and wonder how long I can talk with Christophe about this before he figures out everything I've been lying about.

"Me and Gregory discovered zem . . . zrough some mission work," he says after a few seconds of silence. Getting Christophe to talk about mercenary work takes a lot of pain and effort. Once when he was texting me about being out of town for a weekend, he sent it in a code system he made me learn. And he didn't even tell me where he was going. It's really hard to text in code. I only know about his mercenary missions because he talks about them in his sleep.

"Go on."

He grits his teeth. "We were 'ired to rescue a child zat 'ad been kidnapped. Our employer 'ad already done some research on ze creatures zat stole 'er and figured out zey 'ad . . . supernatural qualities. Records around ze world 'ave decided zey are called 'fae' or somezing, altzough zey are not like zey fairy fucking godmozzer you see in fairytales. Gregory and I believe zey 'ave been capturing 'umans for use as fucking slaves or somezing."

"So that's what they were doing with the people I saw that night . . . ?"

"Oui." He nods without looking at me. "I am sorry I did not 'elp you, Kenny, but when Gregory and I went into zat world a couple of weeks ago and we almost fucking died."

"Did you get the kid-"

"_Oui_, we rescued 'er. But she was . . . not ze same." He shakes his head.

It must be because of the brainwashing. The brainwashing that I am now a part of. I want to punch something. Instead I sit up and pull my knees to my chest.

"Why are you telling me this?" I ask. "You never tell me anything about your . . . work."

"I zought it would be fair for you to know considering what you 'ad seen," he says.

_That's a first for you, Chris._

"And . . . I need your 'elp."

I stare at him. "What?"

"Gregory 'as anozzer mission from an employer with a similar problem," he says. "A college kid 'ad 'is younger twin sisters kidnapped about a week ago over in Little Rock, and asked us to find zem. We did some research and found one of zeir portal zings - zat's what zat shiny light was, by ze way, s potysl - and we went zrough it and found zat it opens up to ze same city as ze one before, just een a different spot. We suspected zat a fae 'ad kidnapped ze girls. I went on reconnaissance seeking zrough ze city in disguise, and I was able to locate a warehouse where zey are being 'eld."

My breath catches in my throat. If Chris is asking for me to help him invade Lila's warehouse . . .

. . . if she finds out I'm even talking to him about this . . .

_Kevin, Karen, Kieran . _. .

"Do you need my help?" My voice cracks.

He nods. "Last time I went wiz Gregory. Ze 'umans zat are under control of ze fae . . . zey do not want to leave. Zey fight us. I could manage one on my own, but I could not take two of zem, zey would fight me too 'ard."

"What's happening with Gregory?"

He shrugs. "'e's busy."

"He's busy? Too busy to do something like this?"

"Ehhhh, _oui."_

"Why can't you reschedule your rescue mission or something?"

"Gregory ees always busy." He shrugs again. "So. I need someone's 'elp, and I figure you are decent fighter from those years you spent as a super'ero. And I know you used to get into gang fights in Junior High, and you can run Le Parkour, so you can probably 'old your own almost as well as Gregory, even eef you cannot use a sword. So. What do you zink?"

"What do I think?" I stare down at my knees. "Uhmmm . . . gimme a second here."

If Lila even knows I'm talking with Christophe about this . . .

But what if Lila's guards aren't the ones who stole the twin girls?

She said she's a black market slave trader, but I'd gotten the impression that there are more of them. What if someone else stole the girls?

It had been Lila's slave who first told me about what Christophe and Gregory had done, and Lila had definitely seemed pissed off at them . . . but the whole city seemed to know about it, given the guards on the gates. I don't know how one human escaping managed to cause such uproar. Maybe it's because Gregory and Christophe tended to generate chaos and anarchy wherever they went. Whatever they'd done to escape must have been huge.

I figure there isn't that large of a chance that the twins were taken by Lila's fae, especially since I have no idea who the portal in Little Rock belongs. And if we do end up going to Lila's warehouse, I can just make up a lie about being scared out of my mind and ditch.

I look back up at him. He's staring at me with his cigarette between his lips and his eyes lidded.

"Okay," I say.

* * *

><p>It's difficult to fake the appropriate level of surprise when Christophe drags me through the portal in the alley by Fifth and Grant. It's late at night here, and the twin moons illuminate each pebble on the ground and each change of our expressions. I just pull my hood up and pretend to be confused. He takes the walk almost as fast as Riel. When we reach the crest, he leaves the path and we cut into the field of Yalyrow. The tall, dull red stalks crowd in our path. It takes so much after to push them aside that after five minutes my arms are almost numb.<p>

The gate towers up ahead of us. Christophe stops and hacks at our surroundings with our shovel so we can stand up straight. We're about fifty feet from the path, give or take, but it could be miles. My arms itch from the grass.

I strip off my parka. "So what now?"

"Zey 'ave magical wards until about fifty feet in ze air above ze city," he tells me, "and about fifty feet into the dirt below. So I will 'ave to dig down into the limestone."

Figures.

I drop my parka to the ground. My fingers trail over the gun Christophe gave me. It's tucked into its halter, strapped under my baggy shirt. You can't see it unless I turn a certain way. I feel like I'm going to shoot myself with it. This is stupid. I've never used a gun before. I'm going to die and then Christophe will get killed. Lila is going to find out about this and I'm going to piss her off and then she'll hurt my family. _Fuck, fuck, fuck_. I want to tell Christophe that we should turn back now, but when I open my mouth no sound comes out.

Christophe hands me his coil of rope and I wrap it over my shoulders as best as I can. He sneers at my incompetence. I give him a nervous smile back.

He stomps his shovel into the ground, throws a pile of dirt over his back, and repeats. His body starts to blur. I watch, biting my tongue, as his speed accelerates almost beyond what I can track. After about twenty seconds he's disappeared into the ground. I wait a few minutes so I won't get wacked in the face, and follow him into the tunnel.

A few years ago, I asked Christophe how he could dig so fast. He was eating at the time, so he chewed his sandwich for a few seconds before responding.

"I was part of a government experiment when I was seven."

After that he refused to say anything more, no matter how much I begged, just to torture me, the fucking asshole.

The tunnel is dark and warm and suffocating. I have to wriggle through the freshly ground up dirt after him. It slopes downhill, enough for me to slide a little bit. The tunnel goes so low my ears start to pop. Dirt streams past my face and my mouth tastes of it. My arms start to hurt again from pushing against the walls.

After a while my stomach scrapes on rock. Fear begins to drown me; what it Christophe screws up and we're stuck down here forever? What if I'm trapped down in the dirt for the rest of my life? I comfort myself with the fact that I can just die, although that would be a fucking painful death.

The tunnel begins to slope up. I kick out and dig my hands into the walls. My breath comes in shallow pants. Light breaks through the cracks in front of me. I claw my way to the surface.

I burst into the world and roll over on my back, panting in clean air. The wind whistles through my hair. I'm never going back in a tunnel like that ever again. Except I probably will have to go through it again on the way out. Fuck.

"Stop making so much noise!" Christophe hisses. He slaps a hand over my mouth until I bob my head up and down.

After a minute or so, my knees stop shaking and I wobble to my feet. We're behind a group of the tent-houses, off the street. Next to us are a few of the sandy-purple gardens. Christophe kicks some of the sand over his hole to make it less than glaringly obvious we kind of dug our way into the city.

"Where's the warehouse?" I ask.

He shrugs. "I cannot tell from 'ere."

"Great. We're lost."

He scoffs, which I take as confirmation.

He slings his shovel over his shoulder and we duck around the group of the tent-house things and make for the main street. There are the usual half-a-dozen or so humans running around with baskets and other package; they smile at us as we past. A couple of them say, "Have a nice evening!" in Lyah. Christophe has no idea what they're saying, but that freaking spell translates for me. It scares me how goddamn sincere they are; how happy they are to be enslaved to race of magical beings who keep them as pets and workers and steal them from their families and sometimes eat them.

It scares me that now I'm helping contribute to it.

"Zose are ze rock gardens," he mumbles, jerking his head to a long field of the purple sandy rocks to our left. "So we must be about a mile or so away . . . 'ere . . ."

He takes off. I sprint to keep up with him, the weight of the gun strapped to my chest weighing me down more than it should. After about two miles (_Chris, you fucking liar) _we finally stop. I'm dripping sweat and gasping by now. Christophe doesn't appear to be affected.

We're in front of a block of warehouses. I exhale in relief when I see they are completely unfamiliar to the ones I went to the other night. It finally occurs to me that Lila might have more than one warehouse, but I decide not to dwell on it. Since we're clear on the other side of the city, we'll probably be okay. Hopefully. Maybe. Of course, the two of us still have to sneak in and sneak out without causing any noise.

Christophe jumps up onto the wall of the first warehouse and begins to crawl up it like a spider. His fingers dig into the cracks and he hauls up faster than I've ever seen anyone climb before. I wonder if this is also a result of a his 'government experimentation.' I follow after him. Digging my fingers into the wall just makes me breath. Christophe waits patiently for me at the top. The climb is thirty feet and I almost slip twice before catching myself on the sill of one of the barred-up windows.

"What now?" I mutter once I've reached the roof and caught my breath. The roof is flat enough for us to stand even, staring up at the two moons.

Christophe shrugs. "We break een."

He starts stomping along, slamming his boots into the wood until he finds a rotting patch. Then he jams his shovel down into the roof. I wince as wood screeches. He keeps hacking away until he's created a decent-hole in the roof. He gestures and I hand him his coil of rope. It takes a couple of knots for him to be satisfied with how he's wrapped it around a broken timber.

I peer down into the warehouse. Christophe copies me. His expression darkens. I remember to don a mask of surprise and horror. It's not that difficult. Even though I've already been exposed to this kind of hell, it still fucks with my senses. There are humans screaming in half the cages, humans smiling up at us in the other.

There are also three fae guards gawking at us.

"Fucking 'ell!" Christophe growls. "I was afraid zey 'ad guards!" Then he jumps and grabs the rope, sliding down it, his gloves protecting his hands from burn. He screams like a fucking maniac on his way down, and whoops when he hits the bottom.

The fae guards advance on him with their buzzing poles, but he smashes the first over the head with his shovel. The second manages to parry one of his blows before he kicks her in the stomach. She flies back against the cages - unfortunately against the cages of the unbrainwashed humans. They reach trough the bars and claw at her face. Her screams hit me down to the bone.

The third fae retreats, but he manages to lay three blows into his ribs. The fae falls to the ground, choking as his lungs deflate.

By this time I've climbed the rope to the bottom. A few seconds later, an alarm starts to shriek. It echoes through the warehouse and into the street beyond. Isn't importing slaves illegal? Why would they have a fucking alarm?

"Was it like this the last time you rescued someone?" I ask.

He rolls his eyes. "No. Gregory likes to do zings all stealthy. All right, we got out alive when I did eet 'is way, but eet was still much more boring. Let's do zis!"

By now the freshly-imported humans have finished ripping at the face of the second female guard. The brainwashed ones are still smiling.

Christophe tries the cage door. The glowing, interlocking chains refuse to yield. "'Ow do I open ze fucking lock?" he screams.

"The guards have the keys!" the humans yell back at him.

" . . . I don't speak fucking Swahili!"

Oh, hell. "Maybe the guards are wearing them or something," I suggest, making sure to pronounce each word in English. I keep my mouth almost completely closed while I speak to make sure nothing's glowing.

Christophe ruffles through the first guard's pockets and comes up with several different strips of metal and cloth and straw, some of which have various images on them. He holds up the purple metal I'm pretty sure is money. The humans shake their heads and keep jabbering at him with "The stone! The stone!"

Finally, I snatch the glowing-blue stone from Christophe's hands. "This looks like it'll work," I say. The humans scream and pump their fists.

He narrows his eyes at me.

"I'm good at guessing."

"All right," he says. He takes the stone back from me stands in front of the humans. "Can any of you speak English or French?" he yells.

"I can speak French!" a human volunteers. She pushes her way forward to stand at the front of the bars.

"Good. Translate for me."

I pretend like I can't understand the language they're speaking in.

"Listen, all of you! The fucking fairies are going to show up in a few minutes or seconds or whenever. I'm going to let you out, and we're going to have to get out of here. First of all I'm going to unlock these freaks over here." He jerks his head to the brainwashed slaves. "Now, I don't know what's been done to them-"

"They've been hypnotized," the translator says, pausing mid-sentence. Then she continues on with repeating Christophe's spiel in Swahili.

"Hypnotized. Right. All right, then. They're going to fight us if we try to get them out of here, and you can't run very fast when you're fighting someone. So I want all of the able-bodied adults, if they're willing, to grab one of the smaller hypnotized children, the ones who can't fight as much, so we can at least make sure some of them get out all right. Got it?"

"Just let us out of here!" one of the humans screams.

Then the fae burst through the door, raising their arms as symbols on their skin glow.

Christophe presses the stone against the first set of chains, and holds it there for too long, ten, fifteen seconds instead of the two like the last time I saw this done. All of the doors on the first row of cages swing open. Humans pour out and mob the fae, punching them and clawing at them before they can form the spells. Christophe leaps for the next several sets of cages and opens those while the humans and fae fight.

One of the fae, no doubt their translator, screams in Swahili for the humans to 'Calm down and it will be less painful for you!' Christophe is already over to the other side of the room, working at the cages of the brainwashed humans.

"Do you even have a plan or any idea what you're doing?" I ask as the doors swing open. The freshly-imported adults swoop for the cages and snatch up brainwashed children, who kick and fight but aren't strong enough to free themselves.

"I am improvising," Christophe says, "but eet seems to be working fairly well so far. Zere are ze two girls." He gestures for the far cage. Twin girls of about twelve or thirteen huddle together; they're tall enough that they might be some trouble.

I head for the cage and grab the first one up. She fights in my arms, screaming, "_No! I am happy here! I am happy here! I am happy here_!"

I pin her arms behind her back and start to drag her for the exit. Christophe positions his shovel on his back and grabs the other girl.

Human screams alert me. I jerk up and look for the exit. Over the mass of humans, I see more fae running for the warehouse.

Misshapen mutts race ahead. Too-large guard dogs with two-large fangs, fur and flesh stripped to the bone in random patches all over their bodies, broken dragonfly wings flat against their backs. I wonder if these are the dogs that Lila was talking about a few days ago . . . their 'sniffer hounds?'

The hounds attack the first wave of humans. Shrieks pierce my eardrums. The sniffers rip and tear into flesh, blood spattering over the walls. The humans fall back, crying out as the sniffers feed. The fae cheer in triumph.

"Fuck!" Christophe screams. "I fucking 'ate guard dogs!"

The humans huddle together in a huge group. Christophe, me, and all the other humans holding onto brainwashed children are in the back.

"Fuck," Christophe hisses. "Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. I guess zat 'stealthz' zing of Gregory's works every now and zen. At least he didn't get us trapped in the warehouse last time. Fuck. Fucking guard dogs. Fuck. Fuck. I will come up wiz somezing. I will-"

One of the fae flop to the ground. We all stare. Then another grabs at its throat before collapses next to the first, pink-crimson blood oozing from its neck. Then a spray of bullets barrage the fae, sniping them down before they can even try for defenses. Five seconds later, they all lie dead in a pile. Christophe and I stare at each other.

Then the bullets smash into the sniffers. The hounds are dead in seconds.

"Okay, zen," Christophe says.

I step forward. It's best to risk my life rather than anyone else. Just to be sure, I pass the girl in my arms off to another human first. I step up to the doorway and peer out. No one. Nothing.

"It's safe to go!" a familiar female voice cries from some elevation.

There are fae filling the streets now, but they're civilians, milling around and gaping. The brainwashed human slaves stand besides their owners and watch with disinterest as the humans pour from the warehouse and onto the path. We're a grimy, exhausted bunch, but there are over a hundred of us. We keep an uneven pace but we run.

"This way!" the female voice cries.

Somehow I ended up leading the way. I spy a female figure - definitely human by the height - up ahead. Although I can't make out their face in the light, I already know who it is by the voice.

She waits for me to catch up before she starts running again. And even though I figured out who she was a minute ago when she first yelled, seeing those crazy-blond curls and lacquered eyelashes still throws me off.

"Bebe? What the fuck are you doing here?"

"Saving your ass."

She has a submachine gun slung around her back and a length of ammunition thrown over her shoulder. She wears all black and has her hood pulled up to conceal her face. I try to connect "Bebe" with "crazy ass sniper standing in front of me who apparently just shot down a dozen or so fae."

"Come on, let's go." She gestures with gun. "The gate's this way, I think."

"How the fuck do you know about this world?"

She makes a pained expression. "Can we talk about this later, please? I really don't want any of us to die."

We keep running. A couple of fae step out in front of us, their arms glowing. Bebe slams the barrel of her gun into one of them. The other kicks her in the chest and she stumbles back a pace, but I'm on him in a flash, smashing the butt of my own gun into his head until he crumples to the road. The stampede of humans behind us keeps up the pace. Panting for air, I struggle to match steps with Bebe.

"Christophe okay?"

"What? Oh, yeah. He's back there dealing with someone . . . Bebe? How the fuck?"

"I said we'd talk about this later."

We keep on running. As we grow closer to a familiar mansion-sized house, my blood turns to ice in my veins. A group of fae stand outside the house. One of them is all too familiar.

The humans behind us keep on running, so I can't hide even if I have time to. Bebe and I run past Lila. Bebe doesn't spare her a second glance, but I look at her, and she looks at me, and she smiles. She gives me a little wave as we run on, then just stands there with her arms crossed.

Fae children are screaming. Human children are sobbing. The gate looms up ahead of us. "Open the door, motherfuckers!" Bebe screams, hefting her gun. The fae guards standing by their gates just lift their glowing poles and glare at us.

"Fuck, I don't want to kill them unless they're actively threatening us!"

The humans run right up to the gate until the wire physically restrains them. They cluster around the two fae guards, punching and kicking and screaming at them in various languages.

"Zere's a better way to get information out of someone!" Christophe yells, pushing his way through the crowd. They quiet down a little bit, getting his tone if not his words. He snatches one of the guards from the other humans. The guard whimpers in his hold. He shoves her up against gate wall, and even though she's six inches taller than him he looks like he could snap her like a twig. I glance back and see dozens of fae running down the street with glowing symbols. They're fae who can use magic, then, probably some of the higher-ranking ones. I doubt Bebe can snipe them all.

"Open ze fucking gate or I'll bash your 'ead in," he says.

She babbles, "I can't, I can't, it's against the rules!" in Lyah. Christophe shoves her again in disgust.

I wade through the crowd towards the other guard, snatch him from the humans gripping him, and drag him off to a secluded nick of the wall.

"Listen, dude," I hiss in his ear in perfect Lyah. "This is a secret mission and I'm trying to infiltrate these people to see where they're headed. But there's no point in the mission if we can't get out here, is there? So open and the gate and my mistress will reward you well."

It's an unconvincing lie, but he bobs his head up and down just the same, probably desperate to believe anything at this point. It disturbs me how easily the word "mistress" rolled off my tongue. I'm not like the others, _I'm not, I'm not!_

The fae slams his hand against the gate wall. It starts to click and make a stammering sound, then it fades out of existence. The humans scream and run through the threshold out into the world.

"Cut through the grass fields!" one of the humans yells. "They're too tall to maneuver them as easily as us!"

The humans swarm their way through the grass, hiding in the twelve-foot tall stalks. They're almost scattering now, so I take a chance and yell in Swahili:

"Come on! I know where the closest portal back to our world is!"

They follow me through the stalks. After a minute or so, Christophe and Bebe join me at the lead. I hear the fae behind us yelling and chasing after us, hear some of those sniffers bark, but we run like hell. One of those boxcar-shuttle things (although this version is more streamlined) starts up behind us, but we make it out of the ridge before it can narrow in on us.

The portal is just a few hundred feet away. Humans sprint up ahead of me and I usher them through. Christophe is the first one of the three of us to jump through the portal, one of the twin girls clinging to him, still screaming, "I WAS HAPPY HERE!" Bebe shoots rapid-fire at the boxcar spaceship thing as it approaches, although her bullets do no damage. The last of the humans gets through before the spaceship gets too close. Bebe leaps through the portal, and I follow her.

I trip in a patch of ice the second I land and almost crack my head. At the end of the alley, Christophe is urging the other humans ahead, almost screaming, "they can still find us here!"

Bebe and I push the crowd on until the hundred of us are sprinting down the streets, loosing ourselves in the alleys. We're safe now, and I know it, because South Park is my home and if there's one thing I know it's my home.

The three of us lead the humans for the trees. We loose ourselves in the woods and keep running for several minutes more. Then people begin to slow and stop. We end up all huddled together around various trees, hiding in the branches. We keep our hands over the brainwashed children's mouths to stop them from screaming.

Ten minutes past. Twenty minutes. Then an hour of sitting so still and trying so hard to blend with a tree that all the muscles of my lower body have fallen asleep. Christophe jumps down from his tree and stares at the trail through the trees that leads back to Stark's Pond.

"Zey're not going to find us and take us back," he says, and even though I can't really tell the difference between cynicism and utter joy in his tone, I hope it's the latter.

"We did eet."

He grins at everyone the clearing, meeting all of their eyes.

The humans start to sob and clutch at each other. Many of them go up to Christophe, Bebe and me (although mostly Christophe) and hug him and thank him for evertything he's done.

_Free. _

The word echoes through my head. It's such a fucked up word. It's such a goddamn lie. Because these people are going to be scarred for the rest of their lives, and these children will always be fucked in the head. Free? Maybe from their prison shackles, but not from the memories and the hell they've gone through.

But seeing them cheering and hugging and hearing them talk about visiting their families, going back to college . . . I'm happy that at least we have the first kind of freedom, that at least they can always work hard to make something of themselves.

"I'll get Gregory to take care of zem," Christophe mutters, lighting a cigarette. "Including transportation aspects and some resources and some yeah pretty much. I don't know what Gregory will want to do. But he'll take care of it." He takes a long drag on his cigarette and turns to Bebe. "Now why ze 'ell are you 'ere and how did you get so good at using an MP40 9 mm machine gun?"


	3. Chapter Three

**The 15th season of South Park is over. Liz is sad.**

**. . . but at least we have fanfiction.**

**Meh chapter is meh.**

* * *

><p><strong>November 28 update: Edited for a couple of really stupid typos. <strong>

* * *

><p>Bebe and I wait patiently while Christophe punches in the numbers. The freed slaves shiver in the cold. He lifts his phone to his ear and rolls his eyes.<p>

"Oui, oui, I got ze two of zem out. And, um, all of ze ozzers."

"Well, what was I supposed to do, just leave zem zere?"

"Could you come and take care of zem? I really need to get some fucking sleep."

"Oui, we are on the woods outside of Stark's Pond."

"Oui, you might want to call in zat friend of yours who owns an airline company."

I can make out Gregory's cursing even from five feet away. Christophe snaps his cell phone shut and turns back to the freed slaves, who stare at us with huge eyes and hollow cheeks.

"Can you translate again?" he asks the girl from before. Jagged teeth marks run over her arm and she's wrapping bandages around it in an attempt to stop the slugging bleeding, but she nods.

"All right, then, people!" he yells in French. "I am going to leave now because I am really fucking tired and sick of you all. Do not worry. An . . . acquaintance of mine will be here in a few minutes to come and pick you up! If you move from this spot, you are probably never going to get back to your home continent, so just stay right here. Oh, and don't let the hypnotized ones get free!" Said hypnotized humans are curled up, sobbing, rocking back and forth. "I will never see any of you again, so-"

He turns around without finishing his sentence and stalks off. Bebe and I run after him, leaving the group of humans, who dissolve into screaming chaos within seconds. Hopefully Gregory will turn up soon and deal with them. Hopefully Gregory speaks French or Swahili.

Christophe leads us across a shortcut through the trees. Within a couple minutes, we break onto the highway a mile or so out of South Park. Dawn has just started to peak over the horizon. I rub my eyes. I have work at four PM this afternoon and I have ton of homework.

"So, Bebe," Christophe says. "Care to explain?"

"Care to explain why you two went off on a fucking mission without me?" she snaps, fists clenched.

She's holding onto her machine gun and Christophe has his shovel. I feel tiny next to the two of them. Even though I'm the tallest.

"I could have helped, you know! In fact, I did!"

"Ah . . . but I did not know zat . . . "

"You didn't know if Kenny was going to be any help either, and it turns out he was pretty much useless next to me! Is it because I'm a girl? Is that it?"

He grabs her wrist before she can punch him. A car rushes past us on the highway but the two of them keep on glaring at each other.

"When you were talking about your date, zat was ze 'appiest I 'ad seen you een a long time," he says quietly. "I didn't want to spoil zat 'appiness."

Her shoulders tense, then relax. She looks at the ground and nods.

"Next time I 'ave a mission like zat, I will tell you, and I will 'ave you 'elp me instead of Kenny, all right?"

"Hey!" I say. They both ignore me.

"But for God's sake, 'ow ze 'ell did you manage to use a gun like zat? Or even track us down?"

He lets go of her and we jump through the piles of snow down onto the highway. My sneakers are soaked through before we've walked a quarter mile.

"I knew something was up since this morning. I was going to hang out with you at lunch since Wendy was being kind of bitchy, but when I went to find you at your usual spot behind the school smoking with the goth kids, Gregory was there and he was talking to you about rescuing someone. Then before I left for my date you and Kenny were acting weird, so I ended the date with Red early by saying I felt sick."

"Bebe," Christophe says, looking rather stricken, "you didn't 'ave to-"

"It's fine, we're going to hang out again Monday night. But I went back to my house and you two weren't there so I knew you must be at your house. I couldn't get in through your window because you locked it up and had the curtains drawn, but I heard through the glass that you two were planning to do something later that night, though I couldn't hear the details."

"Great," Christophe mutters. "Another security measure I 'ave to deal wiz."

"So I went home and got my gun and shadowed you on the way to that portal thing-"

"You shadowed us?" Christophe demands. All the blood drains from his face. "You shadowed us from miles and I 'ad no fucking clue? Oh, god, my skills are getting so bad, I 'ave to go back into mercenary training-"

"Chris," I say, "you're kind of missing the point. Like, the 'Bebe has machine guns' point."

"Oh, right. Zat." We've reached the city outskirts by now. A house here, a house there, more streets and lights and actual crosswalks. My fingers are numbing up and freezing.

"I don't know why you guys are so surprised." She crosses her arms and glowers. "Don't you remember back in the fourth grade when I got arrested for possession of a handgun without a permit?"

"Yeah. After you tried to kill Wendy." Their friendship is kind of like that. "But wasn't that a one-time thing?"

She shakes her head. "I like guns."

"You like guns," I repeat.

"And now I 'ave to soundproof my room and run an electric current zrough ze window-" Christophe is still rambling behind our conversation.

"Liking guns does not equate to owning a machine gun."

"I bought it illegally," she says, and then she gets that defiant, Bebe-look in her eyes, "just like all my others."

"All your ozzers?" Christophe looks at her, his lips curving up.

She begins to list off a bunch of gibberish that just sounds like letters to me. But Christophe starts grinning and nodding.

We reach his house and climb up the window to get in. Bebe and I pull off our weapons then collapse on the floor. We groggily watch Christophe runs around the room looking in every nook for a possible ambush.

"Mozzer!" he yells. "I probably 'ave some enemies looking for me, so I am turning on ze lands mines in ze front yard!"

He digs a remote control out from under his bed and pushes a button.

"All right, dear!" his mother calls back.

His family confuses me.

"All right," he says, shutting and locking the window, then turning back to us. He barricades the door with a chair and sits on the ground with Bebe and me. We all curl up in a pile on his carpet, pressed together and luxuriating in each other's body heat. "Perimeter ees secure. Eet ees safe to sleep-"

"Just one second," Gregory says from where he sits on Christophe's bed, "I need to talk to you first."

"Mozzerfucker!" Christophe jerks to his feet and grabs his shovel. Bebe and I sit up and stare at Gregory. The window and door are still closed and locked.

"'Ow ze 'ell did you get een 'ere?" Christophe demands.

Gregory smiles. "Really, Christophe, if you can't bother to secure your own room very well then you don't deserve the answer to that question-" He's cut off when Christophe dissolves into French cursing, which I now understand. It's wince-worthy and his imagination makes me shudder.

"All right," Christophe snarls after he's calmed down a bit. Bebe and I have moved to sit on the bed next to Gregory, even as Christophe continues to pace. "What ze 'ell do you want? I completed ze mission. Are you 'ere to pay me? I zink Kenny and Bebe should each get a zird."

"I'll pay you," Gregory says, "but that's not what I'm here for. Although I am quite annoyed with you. You left me with a hundred people to organize and feed and clothe. And I don't speak Swahili or French. It was rather difficult."

"Yet you got zem on a plane over to Uganda wizzin 'alf an 'our." Christophe taps his watch. "Zat doesn't sound too difficult."

Gregory sniffs. "It would have been easier if it were just the two girls." He glances at Bebe and me. "Is it-"

"Anyzing you can tell me, you can tell zem," Christophe says. "Zey are a part of zis too, now, whezzer zey like eet or not. Now zat ze fae 'ave seen zeir faces, zey could come after zem, too."

Gregory shrugs. "All right." He studies both of us. Bebe squirms. "When did you get a new gun?" he asks, jerking his head towards Bebe's machine gun on the floor.

"Zat's 'ers."

"Ah." He continues to watch us. I scoot closer to Bebe and farther from him. I don't know much about his and Christophe's relationship, other than they've been working together for years and Gregory seems to control all the money and come up with all the plans. Christophe loves to bitch about him. I once asked if they were . . . well, fucking. Christophe banged his head against the wall a dozen times and asked me to never suggest that ever again.

"I have some concerns that the fae might track you down," Gregory says. "And that would be very bad for me."

"You're welcome."

Gregory shrugs. "Also, I'm angry with you for being so crass tonight. Did it not occur to you that a mass breakout would possibly interfere with my plans?"

"Your plans." Christophe leans back against the wall and groans. He lets his shovel slip from his hands to hit the floor. "Fucking 'ell. Zis ees another one of your civil rights movements, eesn't eet?"

"Uh . . . civil rights movements . . . ?" I ask.

"Zis asshole ees responsible for so much sheet around ze world-" Gregory holds up his hands but Christophe keeps ranting. "Whenever 'e gets een 'is 'ead 'e wants to fix somezing, 'e does. You know ze invisible children movement? Yeah, zat would not exist wizzout 'im. And all zat sheet 'appening een Egypt last year? Eet was 'is fucking plan. And who 'as to do all the grunt work? Me. I'm ze one who 'as to risk my neck all ze time while zis asshole just makes all ze plans. And now zat 'es interfered to 'is satisfaction around ze world 'es decided to take eet to a whole new dimension. Literally. So what ees your plan, Gregory? What ees your great big plan to save ze universe or somezing-"

"If you stop talking, I'll give you some answers," Gregory says. Christophe shuts up.

He fixes his gaze on each of us.

"I don't want to involve civilians," he admits. "Although in this rather bizarre town of South Park, I don't believe anyone is just a bystander anymore. So I must ask that none of you breathe a word of this alternate dimension to anyone."

"Not even the police?" Bebe fists the sheets in front of her.

Gregory shakes his head. "I definitely do not want to get the government involved in this."

"But why? You could definitely use their help!"

"Even if we do manage to convince about a magical fairy world, which would probably not be too difficult, there's still the matter of them being the US Government, which is not known for its tact," he says. "The second we invaded, the fae, being moderately intelligent, would shut down everything, throw up their best fighters, and hold their humans for hostage. They would immediately begin killing their slaves. And their fighters would war with ours until thousands upon thousands would die. I would prefer to do this without resorting to war."

"Zen what do you plan to do, zen?" Christophe pulls a cigarette from his pocket and lights it with steady fingers.

"A revolution from within will probably have the most peaceful effect," Gregory says. "All we really have to do is change the minds of the fae regarding humans. I do not expect from the first wave of the revolution. My short-term goals involve government shut down on the importation of human slaves from our world. From what I have managed to gather, it is illegal but this law is not enforced; the black market slave trade is almost encouraged. I also want to make killing humans for consumption-"

Christophe pales. Bebe's eyes grow huge. I pull my knees to my chest and press my mouth against my jeans. I already knew, but I've been trying not to think about it.

"I want to make that illegal, too. From there I can work my way up to them accepting humans as second-class citizens. Right now they are regarded as animals, if animals who can learn to speak. All of this would be relatively simple to orchestrate if not for the brainwashing that the fae do a few days after the human's arrival. For right now, I am working with the humans that have managed to escape and retain most of their previous intelligence. It seems that humans whose families have lived in the fae world for several generations have become resistant to the brainwashing. Several of these humans have escaped and are hiding out in the hills. Convincing them that organizing rebellion will be better in the long run than fleeing for their lives is my first step."

My brain struggles to process everything Gregory's said. Christophe just nods and sucks on his cigarette.

"My second step will be to figure out how to bypass the brainwashing without completely destroying the humans' minds." He speaks more rapidly and quieter now. "Christophe, can you help me get something out of my car?"

They climb out the window, scramble from the house, and tiptoe of the lawn. Gregory seems to know where the mines are placed, because they make it to the sidewalk with relative safety. I wonder what happens when little kids play on the lawn. I decide not to think about it.

"This is all so screwed up," Bebe says in a low voice. I turn to look back at her. Her face is white and she hugs her arms to her chest.

"Oh, god."

She shakes her head.

"I almost wish I'd never gotten involved. I wish I'd just gone back to Red's house and made cookies with her. I mean . . . I just want to get fives on all my AP tests at the end of the year and date pretty girls and go to parties and shit. I don't want to . . . I don't want to save a world. I just . . . " She keeps shaking her head. "I just wanna . . . "

I touch her shoulder. She looks up at me. Her eyes are veined red but she's not crying.

"You can back out if you want," I say, "and we won't think any less of you. This is way too much shit for a high school kid to deal with."

She shakes her head and grits her teeth. "I'm part of this now," she says. "There are people in trouble and Gregory doesn't know how many people he can trust. I have my guns. All those people back there are in so much trouble - there's way more humans enslaved . . . oh god, Kenny, fucking eating them! We have to stop them! We have to show them that we have thoughts and feelings, too. I mean - _holy shit what the fuck are they doing_?"

I turn to where she's point. My mouth drops open. Christophe and Gregory are both carrying one of the twin girls on their backs. The little girls are gagged, with their wrists and legs tied. They scream and writhe, to no effect. Somehow Christophe and Gregory climb up the walls of the house back to the window. They throw the girls inside and lock the window tightly again. Bebe and I stare at the twins on the floor.

"Amanda and Alice," Gregory says, nodding to each girl. "Age twelve. Kidnapped a week ago. By my research the fae usually brainwash the humans five to six days after their capture, so these girls have probably been brainwashed for less than two days."

He steps forward and rips the gag off Alice. She immediately starts to chant, "I WAS HAPPY THERE I WAS HAPPY THERE I WAS HAPPY-"

He replaces the gag and rubs his eyes.

"The last girl we rescued was like this too," he tells Bebe and me. "We just gave her back to parents brainwashed. They called me twice to say she wasn't getting any better, but I couldn't help."

"But zey still paid us," Christophe volunteers.

"That's nice, Mole. But the point is, the other little girl was captured by the fae for much longer. I wonder if these two will possibly recover."

I know. I actually know. Jea mentioned something about the spell needing to be repeated in several weeks. If Alice and Amanda haven't had the brainwashing layered on them twice, they could get better.

I open my mouth and shut it.

Because I know what Gregory will do if he finds out I have this kind of in. He will want me to spy on Lila and sabotage her and free her slaves or something. And she will find out. And she will kill everyone.

_You can't do this!_ some part of me screams. _This is worse than being a double agent! This is lying to everyone because you're fucking scared!_

I push that part of me down and keep listening to Gregory speak.

"You've dealt more with the US Government's brainwashing tactics than me," Gregory says. "I was wondering if you had an idea about they might do to restore these two."

Christophe drums his fingers against his thigh.

"Wait, he has?" Bebe asks.

"Eet was a long time ago," he says without looking at her.

Yeah, probably when he was a government experiment as a kid. I really want to find out more about that.

He stands up and crosses over to the two girls. He squats down in front of Alice. She's shaking her head back and forth, tears rolling her cheeks.

"I'm going to take ze gag off you now," he tells her softly, "and if you scream, I will put it back on. But if you talk quietly I'll leave it off."

She bobs her head up and down. He pulls the gag out of her mouth. She swallows hard.

"I wanna go home," she says.

Christophe turns back to Gregory. "Zat's good," he says. "I was worried ze fae 'ad brainwashed them into only listening to fae, or zat she would shut down completely after being taken from zat world."

"I wanna go home," she repeats.

"We'll take you back to your brozzer as soon as you're ready," he says soothingly, stroking her hair. He even stubs his cigarette out so he's not blowing smoke in her face. I'd forgotten that Christophe loves little kids, even if he pretends to be disgusted by them.

Alice shakes her head. "I don't care about him," she says. "I wanna go home. I want to go home and have a mistress or a master."

Christophe stands up and looks at three of us.

"Zis ees good," he says through gritted teeth. "She still 'as memory of her life before. Zis ees a good zing. _Zis ees good_."

"I wanna go home," she says. "I was happy there I was happy there I WAS HAPPY THERE! TAKE ME BACK! TAKE ME BACK! TAKE ME BACK! TAKE ME BACK!" She starts to writhe and kick out a gag. Christophe stuffs the gag back in her mouth.

"I remember zat zeese zings take a while to wear off," he tells Gregory. "I zink we should wait a week then try to reason wiz 'er again. Eef 'er position is not changed, zen eet ees probably 'opeless."

Gregory nods. "I suspected this would happen. Very well. Let's take them back to the car."

"What are you going to do now about the brainwashing?" Bebe asks, staring at Alice. Both of the twin girls are sobbing, their shoulders hunched, their arms shaking.

Gregory chews his lip. "I have some ideas," he says finally, "but no finalized plan in that regard. I will inform all of you when my plan is more fully fleshed out. Now, Christophe, let's take them back to my car. I'll keep them in the shed for the next week until we try again."

Bebe and I watch the two of them go.

"What if they found out we were the ones who rescued all those humans?" she whispers, her voice cracking on the last words, "and they come and find us, and they take us back to their world, and they do the exact same to us?"

I don't have an answer for her. I want to say "I'll protect you" but how can I promise to protect someone when I can't even protect myself?

When Christophe crawls back in through his window he locks up and throws himself on the bed next to us. We all huddle together. My heartbeat races way too fast. There's no way I can sleep right now after everything I just learned.

At least that's what I think, because I pass out in seconds.

* * *

><p>When I wake up the blinding light of late-afternoon sun bleeds through Christophe's curtains. The other two are still in the pile next to me. My aches. My eyes flutter to half closed. Bebe is curled around my legs while Christophe has an arm thrown over my face. I'm eating his hair. I spit out a chunk and sigh.<p>

Every muscle hurts. It's incredible I didn't die. I collected a bunch of scrapes and bruises from the escape last night, and I'm still filthy from burrowing under the walls. But for just that second, I'm safe and happy.

Then I glance over at Christophe's watch. It's three fifteen PM.

I shriek and clamber out of the pile. Bebe moans and rolls over. Christophe, however, does not wake up as peacefully. He jerks off the bed and snatches up his shovel.

"Where are ze ninjas?" he shouts, waving the thing around over his head.

"I'm going to be late for work!" I dive into his bathroom and strip out of my clothes. I don't even wait for the water to heat up, just jump in the shower and shiver like crazy.

"Mozzerfucker!" he yells from outside in his room. It takes me almost ten minutes to scrub all the dirt from my body. When I'm finished I grab a towel and run into his bedroom.

He's already laid back on the bed with Bebe. When he sees me he grins. "Zis eesn't so bad," he purrs, and blatantly checks out my biceps.

"Shut up, dude! I need clothes!" I begin to rummage through his drawers. I find something horrific in the bottom drawer.

"I thought these were for girls!" I scream, waving the double-headed dildo in front of his face. It's only one of the atrocities in his bottom drawer, which appears to hold all his sex toys, including a pair of handcuffs and a whip, which I really do not want to know about. Bebe blinks at me and goes back to sleep.

"Zey are. I've been wiz girls."

"These are for two girls to use at the same time!"

"Well," he says, "maybe I've 'ad two girls in my bed at ze same time."

I stare at him. Then I realize I'm still holding the damn thing and drop it. I scrub my hands in the bathroom sink for another minute. When I reemerge he's pulled out a clean t-shirt and a pair of jeans.

"'ere," he says. "I wear my clozes baggy so zey might fit you. You'll 'ave to go commando, zough." He smirks.

I grab the clothes and run back to his bathroom to pick up my boxers from yesterday. When I come out for, what, the third time, it's three-thirty five by Christophe's watch. Shit.

"What's happenin'?" Bebe mutters groggily from under the covers.

"Go back to sleep." I roll out the window and start to climb down the side of the house.

"I'll turn off ze land mines!" Christophe calls. "Be careful for fairies!"

This must look really weird to the neighbors.

I sprint back to my house to pick up my uniform t-shirt. Karen is sitting in the living room, watching MTV and folding socks. Kieran sleeps in a pile of dirty laundry next to her.

"Hey," she says, "where have you been, I need to-"

I blow past her, pick up my shirt and parka, and run for the bus station. Somehow I make it to the three-forty-five bus. I change shirts on the way, and the old ladies stare at my chest while I change, which makes the rest of the ride uncomfortable.

I arrive at the Blockbuster in North Park only ten minutes late. The manager, Roy, glowers at me.

"You're late," he informs me.

I mumble something back at him through my parka hood.

His look says that not only does he understand, but he also does not appreciate my muffled profanity.

"Don't do it again," he says, and hands me the keys, leaving me all alone with just Tina, who gets off at six. Tina waves at me and pops her bubblegum. I groan and step behind the counter with her, struggling to get my breath back. I hate running.

Tina immediately starts babbling at me about her boyfriend. I tune her out and fake smiles at the customers who come demanding to know why the movie cost two cents more to rent at this location than others (we're a remote town, it's more expensive to ship things up here) why we're out of a particular DVD (it's the most popular in this store at the moment, you'll have to wait) and why I won't let them rent this other video (it's a porno and you're fourteen, you'll REALLY have to wait). I fend off the last of the stream of customers and rake my hands through my hair in frustration.

"And then Josh was like, okay, Tracey, I'm taking you out tonight, and I'm like, but Josh, my name's Tina, and he's like, my name's not Josh either, but I'm pretty sure he was just embarrassed about calling me by the wrong name, and-"

The stone on the end of my necklace heats up. I pull it out and stare at it in confusion. It glows bright purple and hot in my hands. It takes a few seconds to remember that I put the stone Jea gave me on a cord around my neck. It takes a few more seconds to remember that this means Lila wants me.

My muscles tense.

I glance back at Tina, who's still babbling endlessly. Then I glance at the stone in my hand. Does this mean Rien will come and get me like the last time? Or do I have to find my way to the fae world on my own?

"Mmmppphh," I say. Then I pull off my parka hood. "Tina, do you think you could run the store on your own for a while? I forgot about something."

She blinks. "Uh, no way. My shift ends in, like, twenty minutes."

"I'll be back by then, promise." Lies, damnable lies, but by the time she figures it out I'll be long gone.

She sighs. "Okay. But you better not be lying."

"Thanks, Tina. You're best." I peck her a kiss on the check and duck out the door.

I run in a full-on sprint for the alley on fifth and Grant. I tear my parka and kick off my shoes before jumping through the portal. As per usual, I trip and fall into the scrub brush. I tremble as I pull out the stickers. How long does Lila expect me to take? Will she be pissed if I'm too slow? Will she even notice?

The late-afternoon suns approach the horizon. I am done trying to figure out how the time difference work. I jog down the path and for the gate. By the time I arrive at the city walls, I'm covered in sweat and panting. I hold up the stone around my neck and the two guards let me in without arguing.

I walk at a slow pace now that I've entered the city. Shops are closing up; the fae are thinning. Humans grin at me. My fingers itch with the urge to punch them. I get lost several times, and end up approaching a random fae on the street, a female half a foot taller than me.

She looks at me in disgust when I get within a few feet. I stand back, hands at my sides, head down, gritting my teeth.

"Miss . . . " I say, a little sharply.

She turns her nose up and stops walking. Other fae brush past us, sneering at me.

"Don't approach me," she says, and starts walking again. I get in her way.

"Please," I say, "Miss, I'm lost, do you know how to get to um . . . 'Lilanya's' house? . . . tent . . . thing . . . um, do you know who she is?"

She finally looks at my earrings. I see her make the connection between a slave belonging to a wealthy mistress and getting on my good side. Not that I'm a slave. I'm not brainwashed like them.

"Oh," she says, drawing herself up, "Are you looking for Frrerr Lilanya? The merchant?"

If that's what she's calling herself . . . "Yes?"

"Thank you, Frrerr."

I feel a hand on my shoulder. I turn and Jea's standing behind me, his head bowed. A few feet behind him is Lila, accompanied with her two advisors. The fae female freezes and begins to bow, apologizing and kissing ass. Lila brushes her off with a wave of her hand. Jea grabs me and pulls me closer to him.

"Be careful!" he hisses to me. "Don't talk to a female fae without addressing her with 'Frrerr', not even a little girl!"

"Why not?"

"It's a fucking criminal offense! Pay more attention!" He shoves me away.

Lila observes me with her arms. She wears the same smile from last night, her 'I-know-what-you've-done smile." I shiver under the expression.

"That was a very interesting trick you and the shovel freak pulled," she says. "What's his name, anyway?"

I shake my head.

"I'll find it out anyway."

"Christophe DeLorn," I say, my throat dry. I glance around the street. "Do you think anyone recognizes me-"

"It was dark; I only knew you by the way you ran. Don't worry about that." She steps forward pats me on the head.

"Um . . . you're not mad?"

She giggles, a high-pitched, almost shrieking sound coming from her throat. "Don't be silly, that wasn't my warehouse. Why would I be angry?"

"Oh." I glance around the street again. "Whose was it?"

"My competitor's. His name is Ala. I suspect you'll meet him sometime in the future." She waves her hand. "Shall we be going?"

"Uh, why do you want me? More, um . . ." I grit my teeth. "Brainwashing?"

"Oh, yes. But the brainwashing is later. I'll expect you to come back then, by the way. Come along." She starts off. Frieh and Alow stride after her. Jea grabs my hand and drags me. His gaze darts around the street.

"I heard about what you pulled," he mutters. "It was very, very brave of you but very, very stupid. If it makes you feel better, Mistress is actually quite proud."

"Uh, that doesn't make me feel a whole lot better, actually."

We end up in the lot she took me to last Sunday, in front of the boxcar-spaceship thing. Frieh and Alow press their hands on the door and they disappear. We all enter, the doors disappear, and the boxcar glows as it drifts into the air.

Lila sits on the bench on the far wall and pats for me to sit next to her. Jea remains standing. She pulls an arm around me and hugs me close.

"You're such a courageous human. I just adore that," she coos into my ear. Her arm tightens to the point where I can't breath. "But if you ever fucking dare to pull something like that on one of my warehouses with my fucking property, you will regret it. Understood?"

I jerk my head up and down. She releases me and I fall back, gasping.

We ride in silence for a few minutes. I start to fidget. Everyone else is perfectly quiet. I turn to Lila. She has her hands folded in her lap, and her eyes are clouded over. She's smiling, like she's imagining torturing a small child or something.

"So, uh."

She focuses on me.

"So, where are we going? What . . . what am I supposed to be doing?"

"You're our negotiator," she says pleasantly.

". . . negotiator . . .?"

"The escaped humans don't want to speak to a fae, and they don't trust any of the brainwashed human slaves. We can't trust a slave with a mind, like Jea, because we don't have as much to hold over them. The escaped humans are holding the Aliesh's sons captive-"

"The Aliesh?"

"He's sort of like the governor of our city, appointed by the Queen, and he's very powerful and very stupid. Don't interrupt me, Kenny, pet." She strokes her fingers through my hair. "They are holding his two sons captive and they've promised to release one of them if we give them water. We want you to go in there with their water and make sure the other son is alive after they release the first son."

"But you said they don't trust human slaves." Not that I'm a slave. _I'm not._ I'm not like the brainwashed freaks or even like Jea.

"They don't. They might let you take the water in there, but after that, they'll probably kill you."

" . . . oh."

"And after that, I want you to tell me everything you remember about the campsite, understood?"

" . . . yeah."

The boxcar touches down. The walls fade away and we get out. There are dozens of fae and several of the boxcar things around us. Most of scrub brush has died into dehydrated earth. I don't recognize the surroundings. The blue sky stretches for miles in either direction. I feel myself start to sweat again as the hot air bakes my skin. We're in a desert.

"We have guards set up around the perimeter, but we suspect they're getting stores of food somehow," she says. "They need water, though, or they wouldn't have traded for it."

A female fae with spiky white hair approaches us. A stone engulfed in gray light floats in the air in front of her. She taps it as she walks. My best guess is that it's the "tablet" thing Lila was talking about Monday.

"Frrerr Lilanya," she says, bowing her head. "So glad you could join us."

"Mayire," Lila says, smiling. It doesn't reach her eyes. "So good to see you. I'm glad to help. Some of the escaped ones are mine, you know."

Mayire bows her head. Her gaze travels over me, boring into every pore of my skin. I squirm. Jea glares at me and I manage to make myself stand still.

"The cart is over here," Mayire says, indicating with a jerk of her head. Our party follows her through the crowd of fae. I notice how all the fae shift out of Lila's way like she could poison them if she touches them.

There's a cart the size of a truck floating a few feet off the ground at the edge of the crowd of fae. It's full of a clear crate with the floaty cloth membrane encircling a million different pockets full of water. I absorb it for a few seconds.

"You're just giving them water if they give you want they want?" I ask in a low voice.

"Of course," Lila says. "They still have the other son. We loose nothing by giving them water, anyways. And it's incredibly alcoholic, though you can't taste it. Our hope is they'll test it for poisons, find none, and drink it down."

"So you can invade when-"

She shrugs. "That's our hope, anyway. If they don't fall for it, well, then they still have no water and they can't kill their only hostage left. We don't care much if they torture him, although the Aliesh might mind. I wonder who told them to make this plan; obviously they didin't think it out very well."

"And you want me to push it . . . ?"

She nods. "It doesn't weigh much."

Mayire continues to glower at us. "So how is this slave supposed to be any help at all in figuring out if the Aliesh's other son is still alive?" she snaps. "They'll just kill him the second he brings them the water."

Lila shrugs.

"Do you have some freaky spell on him . . . or whatever you magicians do?" She glares at the symbols on Lila's arms. None of them are glowing.

"Of course not," Lila says pleasantly. "That would be ridiculous. Oh, look, they're sending the first son out now!"

I crane my neck. About three football fields' lengths away, there's a small clustering of boulders.

"That's a cave," Jea mutters to me. He and the advisors have been so quiet I've forgotten they're there. "The escaped slaves have been hiding in there."

A tiny figure stumbles out from the cluster of boulders. He edges towards us, and as he grows closer I can see he is about five or six by human standards (although he's nearly as tall as Karen). Bloody bandages tie his hands behind his back. He begins to walk more steadily, then almost run.

"So why isn't the Aliesh here?" I ask, because he seems kind of important and it feels like Lila would have talked to him if he were here.

Jea shrugs. "He's too big, too powerful, too delicate. The humans could have a bunch of explosives attached to the boy. Who knows? His advisors didn't want to risk it, so they didn't let him come down."

Instead, the boy runs screaming into the arms of the only humans here, a woman in her late forties. She hugs him and holds him while fae unwrap his bandages and start shouting questions at him.

"Who's-"

"She probably his surrogate mother," Jea says, "since his real mother is no doubt too busy with government affairs to care for him."

"Oh."

Lila turns back to me. "All right," she says pleasantly. "Now, they probably won't shoot you until you're inside the cave, as long as they're intelligent. This is because if they shoot you while you're still outside the cave one of them will have to go get the water crate and then we'll kill them."

"They have guns?"

"Yes."

"How?"

"We don't know," she says testily. "Listen to my instructions. Once you get in there, strike up a conversation with one of them, or do your best to stave off them killing you. Investigate as best you can. Absorb all details possible. Don't stay in there too long; if you must, commit suicide. And none of these people will remember your death?" She indicates with a sweep of her hand.

I shake my head. Adrenaline is screaming in my veins, making me jittery and tense. "Their brains will make up something that makes sense to them." I pull off the necklace Jea gave me and hand it back to her. "I'm not supposed to die with this on."

"Good." She takes the necklace, leans down, and kisses me on the cheek. "Make me proud, Kenny-dearest."

I step forward. Mayire sneers at me and steps aside to give me access to the truck-sized cart. I push it and it floats forward easily. I glance back. All the fae are staring at me. Lila is smiling. Jea waves his hands in a clear 'hurry it the fuck up!' expression.

I hate dying.

I start to push the cart forward. It passes up the few patches of scrub brush, which I have to jump over. The stones and prickers on the ground stab into the soles of my bare feet. The cart moves pretty fast, but each second cuts through me. I glance back again, then decide staring at the fae won't make things much better.

As I push closer to the cluster of boulders, I see the huge depression in the earth. It's about the size of a bus, maybe larger. I push the cart forward until it's above the dark depression. It hovers in the air for a few seconds, and then starts to sink down.

"Get down here!" a voice calls from down below; I'm pretty sure it's in Lyah although my brain tends to scramble together all the different languages.

"But I-"

"I said get down here!" A hand grabs my ankle and drags me into the hole below. I scream and grab at the walls but they're too strong for me. I end up in a heap on the earth floor. Figures stand above me. One drags me to my feet. My eyes struggle to adjust to the dim light, illuminated only by a single flashlight. How the hell did they get a flashlight in here? Do they have flashlights in the fae world?

"Test it out."

"Wh-wh-what?"

"Touch it! Poke it! Prod it! Just make sure it won't fucking blow up on us!"

I reach out. My fingers connect with the clear cloth membrane.

One of them presses a semi-automatic pistol to my head. "Drink some," she snarls.

I don't even know how to open it, but I fumble around with the first little pocket of water until that section of the membrane detaches. I pour it into my mouth. It tastes like water. I remember Lila mentioning how alcoholic it is. I hope it doesn't affect me when I get back to life.

"Thank god!" someone else hisses. My eyes have finally adjusted to the light. Then all of a sudden the figures pounce on the water, tearing it into the membranes and gulping it down. I stumble back until I run into a wall. Remembering Lila's orders, I glance around the cave. It's not the large, maybe the size of a classroom. There are a few crates in the corner, filled with cans of food. Definitely from the human world. There's a fae boy of maybe nine years tied up in the other corner with a gag over his mouth and his wrists trapped behind his back by more cloth. Cloth wraps over his feet. He has various wounds all over his body, bleeding sluggishly. Some of them ooze orange pus from infection. My stomach turns over. Even though I know the fae are assholes, a kid that little doesn't deserve this. Can he? At least he's alive.

Against the far wall of the cave is a pile of handheld and machine guns. I edge as far away from them as possible.

The girl who first threatened me with the pistol stops drinking and glowers at me. I realize with a shock that she's maybe thirteen years old. The other humans vary in age from barest toddler to shuddering grandma. Most of them are girls. Several of them are missing limbs. They all have hair shaved short to their scalps; they all have piercings of some number on their right ears, although they have long since ripped out the earrings, leaving only bloody scabs. There are maybe three dozen of them.

The girl wipes her mouth and raises her pistol between my eyes. "Say goodbye, sucker," she says.

I raise my hands. "I - I'm not-"

"Not what? Working for them?"

"Jenna, chillax." A man in his mid twenties grabs her hand and steadies her. "Sorry," he says. "She's a bit high-strung. It's all right. We'll let you go home." He gives me a reassuring lie of a smile.

My head is already starting to feel whoozy from the alcoholic water. I shake my head back and forth, hands still raised. "I'm not - what's going on here? I'm not brainwashed-"

"You're not? Then why'd they let you come down here?" Jenna pounces on this, her eyes narrowed and her fists clenched.

"I-I'm-"

She lifts her gun again. "I don't trust him."

"Jenna-" the man begins, but she pulls the trigger.

* * *

><p>I wake up in Hell, in the middle of a field of nowhere, with rocks concerning nothing on the ground around me and a field of rock above my head. I close my eyes. My first instinct is to think through everything that just happened to me. But I'm too tired.<p>

A crunching noise makes me open my eyes again. I roll over to see the toes of a familiar pair of boots. "S'up?" I mutter.

"What are you doing?" Damien pouts. He crouches down next to me. "When I felt you coming down to Hell, I thought maybe we could play together."

"You felt me coming down to Hell?"

"I feel every lost soul joining my father's kingdom; I feel all their screams as they become one of the eternal damned till the end of time; I've felt their pain echoed inside me for as long as I've existed. It's quite a delicious feeling; too bad you can't try it."

I struggle into a sitting position. Damien is still kind of close to me, so I scoot back a little. He likes to get into my face and freak me out. He's still smiling his sharp-toothed smile as he watches me struggle to come to my senses.

"So? Wanna play a game?"

"I dunno," I mutter. I push my fingers through my short-shaven hair. I have a headache, probably from all the alcohol I drank before I died. "What kind of a game is it?"

"It's the kind where we get to chase around the lost souls and rip out their stomach lining and fuck their gaping wounds."

"Ah." I wait. He's serious. Okay, then. "Sorry, dude, not my kind of game." Sometimes his sense of humor amuses me; sometimes it makes me want to run away screaming.

"Oh, well. I'll play it with Pip later, except with Pip as the victim."

Sometimes I feel kind of sorry for the British sap having to spend the rest of eternity with his elementary school friend.

Damien sits back on ass and watches me. "So? What's up? You're being kind of down. Unlucky way of dying?"

"I've gotten mixed in with the fae," I mumble. I finger my earrings. "You were right, dude, it was fucking stupid of me to try to do something."

He pats me on the shoulder. "Sorry. If there was any way to help, I would. I already talked to my dad about it. He said to definitely not interfere."

"Huh? Why not?"

"He said the fae world has gods and demigods of its own, and he really doesn't want to mess with them because, in his words, they're 'sneaky sons of bitches.'"

I pull my knees up to my chest. "Okay," I mumble.

He scoots closer to me and puts an arm around my shoulders. I resist the urge to shrug it off. "Dude, want to talk about it? That's the least I can do."

I sigh. "It's just . . . I didn't expect them to, you know. Really kill me. And then they did. They were just like the fae in that regard. They really killed me."

"All humans are fucked up," Damien says, as if this is supposed to be comforting.

"Thanks, Damien."

He grins and waits. I think of his lack of a real friend makes him hope for one in me.

"Lila's using me. No one's ever used me like this before. It makes me feel . . . it makes me feel . . . okay, I don't know how it makes me feel."

"I'm sorry I'm not a very good therapist." Damien snuggles his head into my shoulder. "Do you want to go back up to the surface now?"

"Not really."

"Kay. Stay and play with me," he says.

Sometimes I wish to just stay down here forever and never have to deal with all the bullshit that comes with going back up.

"Maybe you could," he says.

"Oh," I say. I guess I said it out loud. Or he can read my mind now, which would kind of suck. "I don't want to, really. It's okay. I like life, I mean-"

"My dad might know a way to keep you down here for ever. I've been asking about a maybe possible spell for you, since you hate coming back to life."

My heart rate picks up, because he's right. Sure, being alive can be fun. Sure, being dead slowly drains away your senses until you're nothing more than a shell of a person. But the constant rebirth/death cycle exhausts me. Sometimes, I just wanna sleep.

But it would devastate Christophe and Bebe if I never came back. Karen wouldn't know what to do without me. I can't leave them. I-

"S'kay, dude," I say, even though a part of me is screaming for the security he offers. "Life is okay for now, I guess. You don't have to worry about it."

He gives me his best concerned look. "What, too many people for you to save?"

"Yeah, guess you could say that."

He snickers. "I think I've told you before to stop being such a goddamned hero, Kenny." Then his hand heats up and I find myself back in my bed.

* * *

><p>I sleep until Sunday afternoon. When I wake up the glowing stone is on my pillow, the cord still attached. I decide to not worry about the logistics of how it go there, and head down to the video store for work. I apologize a million times to Tina ('I guess time just flew by' I lie) and get back home at around ten o clock, which is when I remember that I forgot to do all my homework.<p>

Monday morning is a blur. It's almost impossible to believe that all this shit happened a week ago, that my life went permanently eschew in just seven days, that now someone thinks I belong to them and is doing a damn good job of making that true.

During the middle of World History, which I share with Christophe, my necklace heats up. I make an excuse to leave class, although Christophe peers at me when I run out the door. I sprint the trek to Lila's house again, wanting to get back to my world as fast as possible. Die or be sent back, it doesn't matter to me.

I manage to find my way to her house this time. The slaves greet me at the door. Instead of just hanging out in the first room, I'm shown to another, smaller room a little out of the way. After a few minutes of standing, Lila comes in with one of those tablet things in front of her.

"Good," she purrs. "You're here. Report."

I summarize everything that happened to me, even putting in Jenna's name. She nods, chewing her lip, then flicks her fingers. A symbol on her arm glows and the tablet disappears.

"Congratulations, Kenny. I'm very proud of your memory."

"Did you manage to capture the humans?"

She shakes her head. "No, they didn't all drink the water, so they managed to defend themselves when we tried to invade. Although it's good to know that the other son is alive. Oh, and I need you for another brainwashing session."

She has Jea take me down to the warehouses, although a different one this time. Larit glowers at me, just as sullen as ever. We're re-layering the spell on the Russian humans. I repeat her word for word, monotone, not bothering to even comprehend what I'm saying. Jea gives me a clap on the back, which I'm sure is supposed to be comforting. I stagger back to my house and pass out without even picking up my guitar.

She calls me over the next day, to brainwash a group of Inuit Native Americans who were so detached from the rest of the world that they had barely heard of modern technology. She says that rich fae want to keep them as pet. I copy Lirat's words for them and just shut down.

Wednesday, everyone has noticed I'm a zombie. Bebe asks me repeatedly if I'm high. Christophe whispers in a low voice to me, making sure I'm all right, wanting to see if I'm suffering from PTSD after our break in of the fae city. I assure them both I'm fine. Lila doesn't call for me again on Wednesday, and I spend the night catching up on homework.

She calls me over Thursday night, to brainwash a shipment of humans from Eastern China. After I'm finished, Jea takes me to her house instead of letting me loose.

"You wanted to see me?" I keep my head bowed low. I really hope she doesn't want me to negotiate again. I don't like dying again.

She's sitting on one of her fluffy blanket couch-things, her two advisors standing by her side.

"You've been working for me for over a week," she says, "and I wanted to see how you're adjusting."

I shrug. "Okay."

She eyes me. "You don't seem 'okay.'"

I shrug again and don't say anything.

"Would you rather I have you brainwashed?" she asks.

I freeze up and stare at her. She giggles to herself.

"Not that I think it would stick after you died, but it could make you happier for a few weeks."

I clench my fists and shake my head.

She gives me an indulgent smile. "Come here, Kenny-dearest."

I sit next to her and she pulls me into her arms, holding onto me like a rag doll. She feels hot and cold all at once. Her long fingernails stroke through my hair.

"Many noble fae keep humans as pets," she says. "I have never understood this sentiment before, although the Lilanya Company has, of course, catered to their demands. But I must admit I can see some of the motives behind it. I simply find your tragic heroic spirit adorable." Her grip tightens and she purrs into my ears:

"I can't wait to break you of it."

After several long minutes she releases me.

"Oh, and I'll need you to come early in two days time. I am entertaining special guests and I want you to look your best."

Jea leads me out of her house. Somehow I make it to the street before I loose my cool.

"How can you fucking stand it?" I scream, kicking the dirt. "The fae here treat us like amusing toys or worse than shit and you just shrug and take it! How do you fucking deal with it?"

Jea tries to grab me but I shake free of him.

"Kenny, it's-"

I don't know what he's going to say, I don't know what he possible could say to justify being so fucking subservient. I just stalk back to the human world and stagger for my house to try and snag another three to four hours of sleep.

And yet it seems I'm going to be deprived of that, because a few minutes after I arrive in the human world and as I'm walking back to my house, my cell phone rings. I snap it open and growl, "What?"

Christophe sounds incredibly unamused. "Meeting at my 'ouse."

I shut the phone, curse him out for a minute, then stomp the rest of his way to his house.

* * *

><p>I step carefully through his front lawn because I don't know if the land mines are on, feel my way up the window, and topple inside the room. Bebe, Christophe and Gregory are already there.<p>

"What's this about? Because I'm really fucking tired." I rub my eyes and sprawl onto Christophe's bed.

"It's about how we're going to proceed next in the world of the fae," Gregory says calmly.

"Do we have to have this meeting at one in the morning?"

"Yes. Now, listen." Gregory combs back his already combed-back hair with his fingers. "For about a week now I have been aiding a group of escaped humans. I believe I mentioned this before. They had the stroke of luck to kidnap the two sons of a political leader, and I have been advising them in how to deal in the hostage situation they're currently trapped in, although they haven't been following my directions to the letter-"

My blood turns to ice. I sit up straight. Because Gregory is planning something to do with the escaped slaves Lila is currently battling with. And Lila told me not to fuck with her property.

Gregory is still talking.

"-now, I can sneak into their cluster of caves using stealth, but there is a constant watch upon the humans, even during the night time. There is no way for a group that large to leave, and because the group also contains the elderly and small children, this makes it even more difficult. My plan is not to help them escape back to our world like Christophe so crassly did with his previous group of humans-"

_Insert glare here. _

"But rather use this group to help incite a revolution."

"Okay, holy shit," Bebe says. "You're just like, oooh, I want a revolution now, and bam, presto, it happens?"

"Well, not quite like that, but I am generally fairly efficient at getting these things done. However, for this to happen, I need to organize the rebellion group's physically fit persons so they can sneak into the city and put the first part of Step A, create beginnings of unrest, into action. There are many humans in the city that are only partially brainwashed, who have much resistance to the fae's spells, yet remain because they are terrified. My goal for tomorrow night is to make them think."

This is bad. This is so fucking bad. I can almost feel Lila breathing down my throat, threatening me, teasing me with her long nails and her - "_You're such a good pet, Kenny-dearest."_

"All right," Christophe says. "What do we have to do?"

Gregory explains. We all stare.

Okay. This is bad. This is really bad.

"You can back out if you are afraid," Gregory says.

My fingers curl. Something roars inside me. I would like to say it's my heroic spirit, but it's actually just the blood rushing in my ears. My mouth feels dry. _I can't I can't I can't I can't I-_

I shake my head. "I'm in this all the way."


	4. Chapter Four

This chapter is where things start to get more into my style. I.E.: Bloodier, more depressing. Rated M for a reason. This is your last chance for escape. Thanks for reviews/alerts, everyone!

* * *

><p>Christophe dips the brush into the bucket of paint. He hesitates for a second, eyeing the globs of black as they drip down from the brush's hairs. Then he shrugs and brings it up to swipe the paint across my face.<p>

"Hey!" I whisper. I don't know why I'm whispering. "Be more careful!"

"You're not supposed to be pretty," he sneers down at me.

Gregory decided last night when we were discussing our plans that not only did our bare faces reveal our identities, they were also boring. So now Christophe paints three stripes of paint across my face; over my forehead, my nose, and finally, my lips. When I look into the mirror I look like a crazy moron. Perfect.

Bebe is giggling from across the room as Gregory paints her. "Hey!" she squeals. "That tickles!" He grabs her chin to force her to stay still.

My hands tremble as I paint Christophe's face. This is stupid. This is so fucking stupid of me. What if Lila - No, she won't know it's me, you can't recognize me with my face like this . . . but she said she recognized me by the way I ran-

Christophe's hand on my shoulder makes me look down.

"Eet will be okay," he promises, staring at me until I look back at him and meet his gaze. I bob my head in confirmation, and finish painting his face.

We all dress in black to blend in with the night. Bebe calls the bathroom to dress, and when she reemerges she has her cell phone out and she's grinning to herself.

"Good text?" I ask her.

She snaps the phone shut after replying, and looks up at me. Her eyes are shining in the moonlight. "Yeah," she says, and her smile stretches wide. "Red. She says she can't sleep because she keeps thinking about me, can't wait to see me tomorrow night for our second date . . . aawwww!"

I pat her on the shoulder. "Second date, huh? Might as well bring a u-haul-" She shoves me and I stumble back, grinning. This is going to be okay. This is all going to be okay and great and Lila will never know about my involvement.

We slip our weapons on. This time, Christophe gives me a baseball bat along with the gun. He says it will be more efficient for 'breaking sheet, eef necessary'. I do not doubt the truthfulness of his words, as he doubtless has more experience with breaking shit than me.

Gregory owns several cars, including a sleek Volvo, a Toyota pickup truck, and a Humvee with tinted windows Christophe fondly calls their 'genocide car'. When Christophe tells me how many extra missions Gregory took on to be able to afford them all, I snort. Bebe and I drop our backpacks to the floor of the Humvee as we slide into the backseat. A sloshing sound emits from mine, as it's full of water bottles and a bucket of black paint. Bebe strokes her gun lovingly as Gregory drives, which makes me edge away from her a bit.

Christophe fiddles with the radio station. He settles on the classical channel, which makes Bebe and me gag until he tells us to 'shut ze fuck up'.

As we turn down the alley on Fifth and Grant, Gregory slows the car down to a crawl and looks back to face us.

"I've done several tests," Gregory says. "To pass through the Portal, we must all be simultaneously aware of existence and . . . not necessarily expect to be taken somewhere else, but expect something to happen."

Bebe and I glance at each other and nod.

Gregory pushes the pedal a little bit and we inch forward. The shimmery light grows closer. I concentrate it.

"Are you even sure a car can go through-" Bebe starts, then is cut off when the world around us shifts and sighs and fades into the scrub brush countryside. At least this time I don't end up face-first in prickers.

The music cuts off, blurring into static. The Humvee growls as it maneuvers over the terrain. Even behind the wheel of a monster car with his face painted with black, wearing burglar's clothes and a gun in his lap, Gregory looks like he'd be perfectly at home at a meeting with the governor. That's just the kind of creep he is.

Christophe turns the radio off. We drive in relative silence, the quiet broken only by the growling of the engine.

After a few minutes, the silence starts to choke me. I open my mouth to say something, anything, but Christophe beats me to it. He pokes his head over his seat and inquires to Bebe as to how things are going with Red.

She stares at him. "Haven't you been paying attention to me at all tonight? They're great, Chris."

He sighs. "I am just sick of four teenagers sitting in car togezzer and no one ees shouting at anyone. Eet feels like we 'ave to get into at least one argument or our 'adolescent' card will be revoked."

"Mole," Gregory says, "just because you're so immature doesn't mean everyone else here is, too."

And Christophe gets his wish because they immediately start arguing. I sit back and rest my head against the seat. My stomach is cramping up. _This is a bad idea. This is a really, really bad idea._ It's become almost a lifeline to me, as if repeating it over and over again will make it less true.

We don't take the familiar path into the city. Instead, Gregory goes through the scrub brush, over some hills, and into the countryside until the earth below us is sand and the bushes look so dehydrated my mouth grows dry just by staring. A familiar cluster of rocks loom up ahead. I start to fidget.

We stop about a mile away. "There are fae positioned in the hills," Gregory warns us as he opens the door. "When we get closer we will have to be very, very quiet. I can sneak us in and out without causing too much trouble, but you must not make a sound and you must stick to the shadows. Understand?"

We all nod. Bebe says, "Why can't Chris just dig us in?"

Christophe shakes his head. "I cannot dig for zat far. Eet would kill all of you to be in a tunnel zat long . . . alzough eef we need an escape route zat ees always an option. Come on, beetches, ze nights 'ere are long but not zat long. Follow ze pretty British faggot."

Gregory rolls his eyes, slings his backpack over his shoulder, and adjusts the rapier in its sheath at his belt. He keeps his gun in his right hand even as he walks. It feels kind of wrong to just leave the Humvee here sitting out in the open, but I shrug and follow him.

Christophe lights a cigarette and offers me another. The little embers on the end glow orange against the backdrop of night. I smoke when I'm nervous, to calm myself down. Tonight definitely qualifies.

"The first set of guards are up ahead," Gregory says nonchalantly. He gestures with his gun to a set of rocks on a nearby hill. Everything is quiet and dark, and it takes a few seconds for me to figure out how he knows; light reflects off something on the hill, like a mirror, or water . . . or wings. "We'll have to crawl. Please don't make a sound."

Bebe tucks her poofy blond hair under her hood. We all get on our hands and knees and duck into the bare scrub brush. Christophe mutters in French when prickers jab into his palm. I'm numb and terrified. What if I get caught? What if they turn me into Lila? What if she kills my whole family as punishment? _What if, what if, what if?_

"The second set of guards are up there," Gregory mutters, jerking his head to indicate. He has his gun tucked into the waistband of his black dress pants. With the paint running over his nose and his hair slicked back, he looks demonic and regal all it once. Some part of him reminds me of Lila. I shut that thought out of my mind.

We crawl quietly past the second outcropping of rocks. The cave is less than a hundred feet away. The ground up ahead of us is barren, nothing more than sand.

"All right," Christophe mutters. "I can dig us up to ze cave from 'ere. But I 'ate digging zrough sand."

He hides behind a particularly large clump of scrub brush and slings his shovel off his back. I wince when it bites into the ground. But there are no guards running our way, no yelling, no shouting, just the sigh of the wind. I force myself to inhale and exhale.

Within thirty seconds Christophe has disappeared into the ground. Gregory follows him, then Bebe, then me. The sand collapses into the tunnel and I need to shift it out of my way in order to crawl downwards. As I get deeper, the sides become studier and the ground turns into dirt. Bebe pants up ahead of me. I catch sight of the bottom of her sneakers and the butt her gun. I also get a pretty good glimpse of her ass, which makes the journey more tolerable. I wonder how the hell Gregory managed to sneak all those supplies in to the rebel humans. With his Gregory!powers, probably.

We burst out of the tunnel after almost twenty minutes of crawling. I want to gasp for breath dramatically again, but Christophe's warning glare shuts me up.

We're right outside the cave, hidden from view of the fae by several huge boulders. I shake dirt and sand out of my hair. Bebe spits out a wad of something.

"Never again," she mutters.

"Actually," Christophe says, "we'll 'ave to go zrough eet again to get out." He jumps into the hole to the cave below our feet. I watch him disappear into the darkness, hidden from the moon. Gregory and Bebe follow. I touch my face to make sure the paint still obscures my features, pull my hood up to cover my hair and pierced ears, then clench my baseball bat tightly, just in case. Then I jump after them.

After Gregory whispers, "I'm here!" several times, someone finally turns on a flashlight. Half a dozen groggy humans are awake and fully dressed in black clothing, like they've been waiting for us, like Gregory has supplied them just for this mission. The others all sleep in the corner of the cave. The little fae kid is still tied up. He's awake and blindfolded, but he jerks his head in the direction of the sound. Bebe stares at him.

All of the humans are in their teens and twenties, fit and pissed-off looking. I recognize the man who tried to save my life yesterday, and Jenna. I hide in the shadows, even with the face paint.

"Good evening," Gregory says. "Are you all ready for your mission?"

Jenna translates his statement to the rest of them. They nod.

"These are my comrades. Since this is a mission, you will call us by our nicknames; the Mole, the Sniper, and the Singer. You already know me as the Englishman." Apparently, Christophe insisted on choosing Gregory's nickname. "We will now paint your faces and hand out supplies."

Last night Gregory explained to us that the point of this mission is not only to make a statement to the fae, but make a statement to the rebel humans. We need to show them who is in control; we need to show them who they can become.

I pull out the bucket of paint and grab a brush. Because I have amazing luck, it's Jenna who sits in front of me, waiting to be painted. We sit back in the shadows and I tip my face down.

"The Singer, huh?" she says in broken English. "What do you do?"

I shrug and dip my brush into the paint. "Sing. Hit stuff with baseball bats." I pitch my voice slightly lower.

She doesn't seem to recognize me; she keeps her eyes closed as I paint.

"Those are great offensive abilities."

"Oh yeah? What about yours?" I swirl the paint around her face.

She smiles, eyes still squeezed shut. "I killed a fae with my teeth. I think I am capable."

_Okaaaay, then._ I study her for a little before applying the next stripe, over the bridge of her nose.

"Aren't you a little young to be helping us out with this mission?"

"Aren't I a little old to be sold to the kitchens for food?"

Ah. "Is that why you escaped?"

"I escaped because I hate them," she says, opening her eyes and staring at me. I see a glimmer of recognition, and then she brushes it off with a shake of her head. "There's no other reason."

I decorate her with the last stripe of paint and stand up. Gregory is already passing out stencils. I stuff it under my shirt, and she copies me.

He tells the six rebels about the tunnel, he tells them to be quiet, and he says this with an extra glare. They shut up. Bebe and I are used to Gregory by now. Following Christophe's example, we smirk. The rest of the rebels are still asleep or pretending to sleep. I shoot one last look at the fae child before I climb out of the cave.

Bebe moans before ducking into Christophe's hole. Jenna dives in after her. The human rebels follow after her warily. I tighten my hold on my baseball and crawl.

* * *

><p>The dig under the wall and into the town is simple enough; either they haven't figured out Christophe can dig underneath their enchantments (hence the shovel), or they have yet to lower said enchantments to a depth necessary to stop us. We're all filthy and grimy by the time we jump out of the second tunnel. There's definitely no way any of them will recognize me now. I sneeze up dirt as Gregory divides the ten of us into five times. He puts me with Jenna again, because there is a fucking sadistic god up there who thinks it's hilarious.<p>

"Return in an hour or less," Gregory says, tapping his watching. Jenna translates, and then we're off.

There are several fae soldiers patrolling the city, no doubt on the lookout for Christophe and his shovel. Jenna and I don't need to speak; we hide in alleys, behind stones, even in a pile of filthy cloth discarded by the side of the road.

We find one of the larger houses near the walls. Decorating the wall itself will be Christophe's job, since he is the best at escaping should the need arise. My backpack contains half-a-dozen cans of spray paint. I toss one to Jenna, pull out my own, and push my stencil against the fabric. Jenna copies me at the house across the street. I squeeze red paint onto the stencil until a thick smattering of color coats the wall and I'm getting high off paint fumes.

I admire my work. The stencil is a bunch of grafiti-fied Lyah letters, which look enough like Arabic to piss me off with their familiarity. Jenna reads and writes in the language, although she refused to tell us how. The stenciled letters translate into a looped-together: "FREEDOM NEVER DIES."

It's cheesy and kind of stupid, but it makes me shiver. Because I die. I die all the time. So what does that make me?

The symbol for "human" is woven into the 'freedom never dies.' I can't read the words but Gregory told us what it meant before he sent us out on this mission. I rotate to the house next door. Within ten minutes, we've covered the entire block of tent-houses. Then I spray the symbol onto the street in huge, red letters for all to see.

We cover six blocks this way. My arms and legs shake with fear and adrenaline. The few humans passing at this time of night just smile at us. They must not have some form of 'INTRUDER ALERT!' coded into their brainwashing. Whenever we see a fae, we hide in backyards. Some houses have grass the same color as the red grass, the 'Yalyrow', except shorter and sans purple fruits. They make for good hiding places.

We begin to head back to the meeting spot. The twin suns have just started to peer over the horizon; the pink streaks throw patterns onto our faces.

"So what's it like?" she asks me as we walk.

"Huh? What?" I remember to pitch my voice low.

"Living in the human world. The normal world. The fae here call it the 'savage world.' What's it like?"

"Seriously?" I blink at her. "I don't even know. It's . . . uh . . . exhausting."

She jerks her head up and down, her teeth gritted. I realize how shallow I must seem to her. The average teen has never been enslaved; has access to education; no one's ever tried to eat any of them. If I could explain everything to her maybe she would sympathize with me. And then I find myself wondering why I care.

"Wouldn't trade it for anything," I offer at last. "Heaven is boring in comparison."

She blinks and grins, the first time I've seen her smile. "I have no idea what that is."

* * *

><p>I don't sleep at all when we get back to our human world. The rebellious slaves are safely back in their cave. Christophe is skipping school today to hang out with them and discuss possibly digging a safe tunnel out of there. The main reason they have not attempted to escape is the presence of the injured and children, who can't run under fire.<p>

At school the next day I try for my best zombie impersonation. I'm eating lunch with the guys. 'Eating lunch' meaning chewing on the rubbery cheeseburger that the kids in the Free and Reduced Lunch program get to eat, while dodging Kyle and Cartman, who keep arguing over Hanukkah versus Christmas. They keep throwing tater tots at each other. I pick them up off the ground and eat them; it's better than the toxic cheeseburger.

Stan sighs as he watches his best friend engage in another death fight with Cartman. "S'up, dude?" he asks me.

I blink. He rarely talks to me. I rarely talk to any of them, actually. I listen to their conversations and insert a sex joke when appropriate (always) but my hood kind of hinders my conversation skills. I wait a few seconds to see if he's kidding. Then he rolls his eyes at Kyle and I see he's just bored out of his mind.

I pull off my hood. "Nothing much." Other than being enslaved by a fairy from an alternate world, dying from a gunshot wound between the eyes, participating in the beginnings of a revolution - It's all fun and games in South Park.

He sighs. "You've been hanging out with Bebe a lot lately."

I shrug.

"Are you two . . . ?"

I wrinkle my nose. I imagine sex with Bebe would be a lot like sex with a doll. If she didn't kick me in the nuts at just the suggestion.

"No way, dude. Just friends." I consider telling him that we're best friends, that we've been best friends for a while, ever since the two of us worked on that Gym project together back in eighth grade and had to save the world from cross-dressing ninjas.

"Kay," he says, and blinks in a very Stan-like-way. Kyle has Cartman pinned to the ground on the other side of the table. "So, uh, you busy after school?"

It's my turn to blink, although I guess I do it in a Kenny way.

"What?"

"Kyle and Cartman and I were going to go shoot hoops or hit on cute girls down by the arcade. In Cartman's case, get slapped by cute girls who don't appreciate his sense of humor. Wanna join?"

I blink again from lack of a better response.

I was always the odd one out as a kid. As the years progressed and I kept dying, they started to know me as the 'unreliable kid', since all they could remember of my deaths were me vanishing whenever they were in trouble, even if I'd died to save their lives. So that's what I became. Unreliable. Good to eat lunch with, but not someone to call if you needed a friend to talk to. Even when I started to die less, they kept the same approach to me. I branched out. Made new friends. Friend, really. Christophe was the by-product of being friends with Bebe, since he's adored her since he moved here in the third grade.

We keep to our tables under pretenses. I hang with the guys because I don't want to be alone. Bebe sits with a group of girls (Wendy, Heidi, Millie, and sometimes Red's group of girls) but she's not super-close with any of them. Christophe usually hangs out at the back behind the school, close enough to the Goth kids to be associated with them while he smokes.

I glance at Bebe's table and see that Red's group has joined her group today. She and Red sit next to each other, arms brushing. Bebe is currently in the middle of attacking Red with French fries, which I'm sure makes sense in context. I turn back to Stan and see there's some desperate side to him, like he wants something. Like maybe he wants to be real friends again.

No one can remember when I die. But on some subconscious level, they register it.

Stan has seen me die a thousand times. Maybe some part of him is screaming to grab onto me before he looses me again.

I shrug. "Like old times?"

Stan grins. "Like old times. But make sure to get some sleep tonight, too, though. You look like a fucking zombie."

"Didn't you hear? It's the new thing."

Kyle rejoins us, his hat askew on his head. "Hanukkah is better," he announces before sitting across from Stan and attacking his kosher hot dog. Cartman sits next to Kyle, scowling and digging into his cheesy poofs. I slip my hood up over my face.

"Kenny's coming with us," Stan says. "This afternoon."

"'Bout time, you poor piece of crap," Cartman mumbles into his food.

"Mmmppphhh!"

"Hey, it's true! You can't even pay for arcade games."

Kyle rolls his eyes and turns to Stan. "I heard Wendy's going there tonight with her girls," he says. "Bebe and Heidi were talking about it in Lit."

Stan nods, eyebrows narrowed. I recognize that look. It's the "I'll-flirt-with-girls-in-front-of-my-ex-girlfriend-to-make-her-mad" look. Oh, us males. So deep in our motives. I grin under my hood. I'll get to hang out with Bebe tonight, too. Bonus.

I feel a hand on my shoulder, and tip my head back to get a look. Gregory stands over me, one hand running through his hair. Stan wears an expression of abject hatred. What the hell did I miss between the two of them?

"What are you doing here?" Stan snaps. "Come to steal my friend, too? My girl wasn't enough for you?"

Gregory smirks. "Wendy doesn't belong to anyone, Marsh."

Stan jerks to his feet and Kyle grabs him. It's everything I can do not to burst out laughing. When did that happen? And when did Stan turn eight years old again?

I shrug my hood off again. "You and Wendy? I thought you and Chris were fucking behind our backs."

Gregory stares at me for a second. Then he says, "I'm going to ask you never to repeat that comment."

I snicker and stand up to follow him. "Be right back," I tell the guys.

As we pass by Wendy's table, he blows her a kiss. Oh god, this is legit. She even flushes and pretends to catch his kiss. Maybe she's just his beard. Him and Christophe must still be in denial over their feelings for each other.

We end up behind the school gym. The Goth kids are a few dozen feet away, smoking pot and reading out of a book of Poe's poetry. Gregory whispers as he talks to me.

"I have another mission coming up."

My stomach turns over.

On one side, I haven't yet suffered repercussions for the last one . . . which might mean Lila doesn't know.

On the other side, Lila seems to know everything. Either that or she'll find it out eventually.

I squirm a little bit. "Uh . . . what is it?"

He eyes me. I force myself to stand still.

"I've been gathering intel by sending some of the rebel humans into the city," he says. "Christophe has already reported back to me. They are distraught over the appearance of hundreds of symbols in various parts of the city. They have these things called 'tablets' which transmit information. Everyone is talking about it. I had a rebel listen to the slaves, and so far they aren't talking about it, but she did report them being more afraid than usual."

"Okay . . . ?" He just continues to stare at me. "Want me to go get Bebe so she can hear this too . . . ?"

He shakes his head. "I'll give her the details, but she won't be necessary for this next mission."

"Which is what? Come on, spill, dude."

"There is going to be a meeting within the city in about two and a half weeks," he says, "being attended by the top magicians in the country. These are the fae who write the spells and shape society. Most of them are very reclusive, being ancient beyond our imagination, and they only have gatherings like this maybe once or twice a year. It's only because this particular fae city is the largest in the country that we even have this opportunity at all."

"Your point?"

"I need someone to write a spell to remove the brainwashing from a human's mind, or at least lessen its affects," he says. "I'll ask one of them."

I stare at him. These are no doubt the magicians Lila told me about, the crazy-skilled ones who developed the spell she imbedded within me. "Are you insane? You're just a human to them! We're all just humans to them! I don't know if you've noticed, but they freaking_ eat_ us!"

"It's a risk we've got to take," he says. "And you might think differently once you've heard the layout of my plan."

I rub my eyes and wonder if there's any way of convincing him this is fucking stupid. Not likely. "Why just tell me?"

"My plan only allows for one person to come with me," he says, "due to restrictions based on resources."

"Okay. Why me? I can't shoot and I can't dig shit. I'm 'The Singer', remember?"

He smiles, just a little. "When I first suggested my plan to you, your first reaction was to tell me it was dangerous and stupid. Christophe would have bitched about it later, but his first response would be more along the lines of 'oh, sounds like an interesting challenge!" The way he imitates Christophe's accent makes me shiver. He could probably use that ability for evil. "While I do not know Bebe particularly well, I believe she would look for any opportunity to fight against the . . . 'motherfuckers', as she called them last night when she saw some of the slaves. She is too ruled by her anger when it comes to situation like this." He grins for real now. "I suppose she gets some of that from being friends with Wendy."

I make a gagging noise. "You do realize Stan's going to figure out a way to kill you later, right?"

"If I think the threat gets too serious, I'll send Chris after him."

"I don't think Chris would mind Stan and Wendy hooking up again, if it would leave you open."

It takes him a second to get it, but when he does, his expression is priceless.

"Moving on," he says. "I have other contacts, but as I said before, I am trying to keep the knowledge of this place as need-to-know as possible. And you, Kenny, are definitely one of the more reasonable people I know. Also, you appear to be a good actor. And good at keeping your mouth shut. All very important skills for this next mission."

". . . thanks?"

"And, not to be insulting," he says, "but have you noticed how all the humans in the fae world dress? They have shaved heads just like you, and most have an earring or two. Maybe you could take a few of yours out?"

I shake my head, my mouth dry. "No, I just got 'em pierced. They'll heal up if I do."

For a second, there's a flicker of suspicion in his eyes. Then it's gone and he continues talking.

"You really are the best person suited for this mission."

"Okay," I say. "I get why me. You're the brains behind this and all. So what do we have to do?"

"I'll fill you in on the details when I have everything solidified," he says, "but we'll be pretending to be human slaves in order to sneak in. I hope you don't find the idea too traumatizing."

_I'll fit right in, _some part of me snarks. I shut it down with a shrug. "Naw, I'm cool with that."

The tardy bell rings. Two minutes until class. I sprint back to the cafeteria table to pick up my backpack. Kyle and Stan are still there, since they both have the period right after lunch as their off period. They're playing thumb wars. They must be really bored or really gay.

I snatch up my backpack and begin to head in the direction for Choir. Then the stone on the chord around my neck heats up.

My blood frosts in my veins. The blood roars in my ears.

I know what I have to do.

I turn and start walking in the direction of the school gates.

"Hey!" Kyle yells. "Your class is the other way. Ken!"

I turn back and look at them.

I don't know if there's something in my expression that gives me away, or maybe they just know me too well. Both of them slump a little bit when I look back, the atmosphere dragging down a notch.

"You're not going to hang after school, are you?" Stan asks, quietly enough that I have to strain to hear him from just a few feet away.

I shake my head. "Sorry, dude," I manage. "I got shit to do."

"That's nice," he says. He and Kyle go back to playing thumb wars.

It's a long walk to the fae city.

* * *

><p>The symbols are still up around the city, even as human slaves diligently scrub them off. It's now easy for me to tell the brainwashed first- and second- generation fae from the more immune ones; the brainwashed sit still and smile. The immune humans, as scarce as they are, fidget and whisper to each other. I catch "human rebellion" past every conversation I walk past. It makes me grin.<p>

Fae are shooting me glares, as if they know. I adopt the idiot brainwashed grin, and soon they start to ignore me with the same disgusted indifference most fae have for humans.

I manage to find my way to Lila's mansion with relative peace. Jea greets me at the door and drags me into the house before I can even find my footing.

"You fucking moron!" he snarls. "Have you any damn clue what you've done?"

Before I can respond, he drags me through the various doors of the house. I end up in closet-sized room with Jea yanking clothes out of a box.

"Whatever you do, don't say anything," he hisses. He shoves the clothes into my arms. "Don't say anything, don't even make a bored expression. Do whatever she says. Get dressed. Now."

I strip out of my clothes and pull the new ones on, ignoring my need for modesty. The float fabric is loose and the shirt puffs up with every movement. The dark gray colors contrast with my ultra-pale skin. My heart beats way too fast. I would like to be able to say I'm not scared.

"Is she mad?" I breathe out. "Does she know?"

He snorts, still glowering. "It's Mistress Lila. Anger is the least of your concerns. Come on!"

He leads me up to another door. I peer through the strands of fabric. A dozen fae are sitting in a giant circle on the blankets on the floor. Plates lay in front of them. They drink out of bowls, and I suspect the watery substance Lila identified as super-alcoholic. They're talking to each other, murmuring so quietly I have to strain to make out snippets of phrases. Most of them are female. A human slave pushes past me and Jea, carrying a tray full of steaming, grainy food. She places it down in the center of the fae and leaves.

"Go in there," Jea hisses. "Up to her. Don't say anything!"

He pushes me. I stumble into the room. They all stop talking. _Oh, god, they're all looking at me._ I freeze into place, deer-in-the-headlights, natch.

Then Lila extends her arm and indicates with a flick of her finger. I creep over to her. She pats the cushion next to her. She's smiling that smile that always makes my insides twist. I sit next to her and she pulls an arm around me.

The other fae twitter. "Frrerr Lilanya," one of them says, "I didn't realize you kept pets. I thought you said they were disgusting little beasts."

"They are. This one's special." She pets my hair. "And so very interesting."

The way her grip tightens around me, I can tell she knows about my involvement in the symbols all over the city. And she's pissed.

"I've told you for a while, they can be quite entertaining." Another fae drinks from her bowl. "He doesn't appear to be brainwashed, though. The later generations are riskier to keep."

I thought they used pretty words like 'hypnotize' among the civilians. I glance up at Lila. She keeps looking at the other fae and offers me no guidance.

"He's not," she says. "He's fresh from the human world, but I decided not to hypnotize him. He stays with me of his own free will, don't you, Kenny-dearest?"

I stare at the other fae, then up at her. Then I nod and curl up next to Lila so I don't have to look at the others. They seem to find this funny, because they all laugh.

I feel like I'm on fire.

I'm not her fucking pet.

I hate her. I would rip her apart if I could.

She is a few degrees colder than the average human. I burn away as the fae keep talking.

"I can't believe what these rebellious humans have been up to," another female says. "In the old days they never used to have so much spark. It's all because of the new laws we can't just bring as many over any more."

"The ones who've been here for four, five generations should be put down before they get too rebellious," a male adds. "It's simply dangerous to our society to have so many older slaves here."

"What about you, Ala?" Lila asks. "You've been rather quiet all evening. What do you think?"

It takes me a second to remember that Lila said her main competitor was named Ala. I realize that this is more than just a meeting amongst friends.

"I think we should talk to the Aliesh," a deep male voice murmurs. "He said he'd pen some legislature to propose at the next Congregation, did he not? Make sure he is still working on that. Lilanya, you are the closest to him, am I correct?"

"You are correct," she says. She sounds amused. "I cannot believe how long it took to worm into his good graces. Even after he approached me saying he wanted to start up a pet trading business for some extra, off-the-books income, he was suspicious I was going to blow him to bits for weeks! As if I would do that to allies!"

"Frrerr Lilanya, you do that to allies all the time," another fae says, giggling.

"Hmmph," she says. "Well, he would deserve it. Sniveling piece of human waste . . . remind me why we decided to join forces with him, again?"

"The Congregational, Frrerr, the Congregation," the second female fae says gently. I move my face out of Lila's side so I can start matching voices to expressions. There are only two males sitting around the blanket, and I can tell who Ala is with just a glance. He's huge. I can tell he must be well over seven feet even when he's sitting down. His head is shaved bald and his brow is deep and dark enough to intimidate me. His expression remains flat, even as the conversation progresses, back to the discussion of what to do with the rebel humans.

" . . . all we have to do," a fae is saying, "is convince the Aliesh that he only really needs one son. Then we can just blow them all up . . . "

"He's the sentimental type," Ala says. "I do not believe that would be well-received. But the humans must be captured, before they set an inspiring example to others. They must be captured, and starved and whipped for days, then paraded through the city naked and wounded. I do believe that would be fitting."

The other fae start to agree.

"Hold on," Lila says. "If we do that, we won't be able to resell them."

"We're not going to be able to resell them anyways," Ala says. "They've gotten their tiny little heads full of naive ideas, and no amount of beatings will bash it out of them."

"My magician, Lirat, is a gifted hypnotist-"

"Most of them are fourth or fifth generation slaves. That would break their minds. They would only be able to perform simple tasks; maybe, if they're lucky, they can harvest the Yalyrow."

"Well," she says, "if they're broken all the way, then maybe we can use their staring, mind-fucked bodies as examples, can't we?"

The rest of the fae are silent and staring. Ala and Lila sit across from each other, each smiling in their own joyless way.

"What say the winner gets to decide what to do with them," Ala says. "You be the one to capture them, you break them as you will. If I-"

She snorts. "Break them in a completely different way; it doesn't matter. But yes, winner does as they will. I know many of you have a claim on a slave or two in the human rebel group, but you don't mind if Ala and I use them for our little bet, do you?" She turns to the rest of the fae. They shake their heads, all together.

"Be careful, Lilanya," he says. "I have a few tricks up my sleeves. You might not win this one."

She's smiling for real now. "Let's see how it goes."

The conversation turns to other things; to gossip, to stories of mischief, to politics. At one point a slave human brings out more food. I don't make out much of the political talk, other than the fact that some sort of 'Congregation' rules their country and there are nine members, each the 'Aliesh' of a town. Then there is the Queen, who is mostly a puppet with extremely little control. After that my attention level goes down and I start running through things I can say to Lila.

_I'm sorry?_ Yeah, sure, she'll go for that. How about, _'it wasn't me_?' I'm sure she'd believe that, except she's probably already linked Christophe's association with the human rebels, and from there to me. I might be able to hold onto that lie for a while, since there's no real proof.

I stay curled up under her arm for most of the night. The sky is black outside when the last of the guests start to leave. I remain huddled on the blanket while Lila bids them goodbye at the door.

She lets the curtain of cloth fall loose. Then she turns back to me. She's still smiling. I don't think that's a good thing.

"I have a task for you," she says.

I stand up as fast as I can. "Uh . . . yeah?"

"Follow Ala," she says. "Don't get caught. Follow him as far as you can; see what he's up to. He might be jesting with these 'tricks up his sleeve', but he's surprised me far too often in the past with a hidden ace or two. Will he remember if you die?"

I shake my head. "But he'll probably remember me being there. If I die within a couple minutes of him seeing me, then he probably won't remember."

"Hmmpph. Well, if you're found out, make sure to die as quickly as possible."

_Sure, Lila, whatever_. But right now I'll do anything to please her. I nod and wait for further instructions. She doesn't say anything, just stands there, tapping her toes. She looks at me and I can tell she knows.

Why isn't she pissed off? She said she would punish me if I touched her property. Maybe she's giving me a chance to remedy it by helping her in her game with Ala. But why isn't she fucking _saying _anything?

I wait another second and still don't get a response, so I run out the door and into the night.

* * *

><p>He still isn't doing anything interesting.<p>

Ala stops at one of the few stores open this late at night, picks up something wrapped in cloth, and continues on his way. I follow a few hundred feet back, hiding in the shadows whenever he slows. He doesn't have advisors with him like Lila, but his arms glow blue, piercing through the darkness, dozens of symbols throwing off light. Only a complete idiot would attack him.

I yawn and rub my eyes. If Lila isn't going to punish me somehow for disobeying her, then I really just want to go to sleep. Though with my luck, she'll probably want me to translate some more brainwashing. I disturb myself with how nonchalant I've become concerning the whole process after just a week.

Ala approaches a smaller house on one of the poorer parts of town. Strange. I would have thought he'd live in a mansion, too. I sneak up closer. He opens the door and a tiny form hurdles out and grabs him around the waist.

The two of them disappear into the house, but I sneak up around the back and press my head against the walls. By listening to snippets of their conversation, I figure out that the tiny form is his daughter, who seems to be about three or four, and she lives in this hut with her nursemaid. After about half an hour of chatting, I hear Ala bid her goodnight.

"No! Papa! Can't you stay the night?"

"Sorry, baby-girl." I hear a smack! as he plants a kiss on her forehead. "Things are stirring up at my work. There might be people angry at me. I won't be able to say the night for a while."

She complains but all her begging doesn't stop him. A few minutes later, he exists the house. I slink in the house.

We continue on for a few blocks more. Then all of a sudden, he turns and stretches out his hand. The blue light flares up. Something grabs me around the waist and yanks me for him. I yelp and try to fight but the invisible force keeps on dragging me until I'm struggling at his feet. Shit.

"I suspected you were more than just a pretty face," he says. "Tell me. What does the Frrerr want to know?"

Since I barely know, I just glower up at him. I probably have barest minutes to get myself killed.

"Normally, I would let you live with maybe a few bruises," he says, "but you've seen my daughter, and that is unexcusable." He shrugs. "Oh, well. Any last words?"

I keep on glaring.

"Fine, then. Suit yourself. Hope she doesn't mind getting you back kind of . . . handicapped."

He reaches down and presses his thumb to my forehead. His finger glows and everything blackens.

* * *

><p>I wake up in Hell, as usual. It takes a few minutes of wandering around until I find myself outside Satan's doorstep. A couple knocks grants me entrance. Satan announces Damien's location - his bedroom- and goes back to stirring up cookie batter.<p>

I open the door to Damien's room expecting to find me torturing kittens. Instead, he is sitting on his bed, watching some sort of video on the floaty screen in front of him. He looks up at me when I enter, and he wears an expression I've never seen on him before. Eyebrows furrowed together, fingers twisting with the fabric of his blankets, jittery and fidgeting.

"Do you care about your family?" he asks.

I loosen my hood so I can stare him. "Uh . . . yeah . . .? Most people do . . . ?"

"Some don't," he said, "and I wouldn't want you to, you know, screw it up if it's better this way. The way it's meant to be."

"The way what's meant to be?"

Damien shakes his head. His faces is still all angles and shadows of frustion.

"You need to get back to the surface, " he says, "right now." He steps up to me and grabs my shoulder.

"No, Damien, what's going-"

And in the next second I'm on cement.

* * *

><p>Smoke clogs my throat and stings my eyes. I stagger to my feet, coughing, blinking and trying to adjust to the gray smog. Heat flares out from a break in the smoke; orange and bright and real. There's screaming and shouting in the distance, the wailing of a siren, the rushing of water. Something's on fire.<p>

I stagger in the direction of the sirens. The cracks in the sidewalk under my feet turn familiar. I'm near my house. I make out the shapes of firemen up ahead, pedestrians on the street outside a burning building.

My house is on fire.

The flames bite chunks of black from the sky. Wood curls and crumbles under the onslaught of heat. I hear Karen screaming, catch sight of her outside the house, behind the ring of firefighters. Police officers hold her back as she struggles for the house. Her eyes are huge and she keeps shrieking even as Kevin tries to comfort her. His shoulders are shaking, too, but he keeps his teeth gritted as he holds on to her. Another police officer has Kieran in her arms.

Some part of me knows already, but I keep walking for my siblings, my legs jelly, barely supporting me. People notice me and try to slow me with their 'we're so sorries', but I push on until I'm a few feet from Karen.

"What . . ." I begin, and I can't finish.

Karen whirls to face me. "These freaks!" she screams. "These freaky tall people with wings came and they knocked mom and dad unconscious and forced the three of us out and they're still in there, mom and dad are still in there, we have to save them, we have to fucking save them!"

Kieran grabs our sister and squeezes her tight.

"You should have been there!" She keeps screaming. "You're the one who liked to play superhero, huh? You should have been there! You should have fucking stopped them! You should . . . you should . . ."

I step up to her and try to hug her. She pushes me away and drops to her hands and knees, shaking, and trembling on the grimy sidewalk. Police officers and firemen swarm around us. The house is little more than char now.

_No._ That's all I know. _No._ And I know this is my fault. This is all my fault. Because none of this would have happened if I hadn't disobeyed Lila.

Kevin picks up Kieran and cradles him. "This can't be happening," he tells our little brother, his voice cracking. "But don't worry. It's okay, little guy, mommy and daddy are going to be okay." Kieran is crying along with him. I touch my own face and find something wet. I must have dust in my eyes.

Someone touches my back. I whirl. Christophe. He grabs me up in a hug before I can protest.

"Zank god you're safe," he hisses into my ear. "Come on, we 'ave to get all four of you out of 'ere. Ze fae 'ave been systematically attacking each of our families. I managed to defend my mozzer from the ze attack group sent after me, and Gregory and Bebe both got zeir families out of town before anyone could 'urt zem. Ze fae must 'ave discovered who we are. Come on. We must protect your siblings."

"Mom and dad-" My voice doesn't sound like my own. It's alien, raspy to my ears. "They. They. They. They're not safe. They're dead."

"Eet's okay," he assures me, although he knows damn well it's not. "Kenny! We 'ave to get out of 'ere! Come on!"

He releases me from his hold and moves up to Kevin. He speaks quietly to my older brother for a few seconds; whatever he says must work, because Kevin nods and gestures to Karen.

"We're going," Christophe says, leading my siblings over to me. "McCormick! Eet ees not safe 'ere! Zey could be watching to get you alone! 'Urry!"

I turn and sprint.

* * *

><p>Christophe curses and yells and runs after me. He must know where I'm going, but I maneuver the streets faster than him and loose him in a minute. My breathing is choppy and hiccupy. I am sore and numb deep down in ways I can't comprehend. I am frozen.<p>

I jump through the portal and sprint for the city. By the time I arrive outside the gates, I'm gasping and full-on sobbing. Everything's shaking. I can barely even make out Riel standing outside the doors, bowing his head to the guards. He grabs my wrists and leads me into the city. It's still night over here, late enough for the streets to be silent and my choked breathing to echo over the walls.

He doesn't try to shush me, just offers me a reassuring smile every few dozen feet. Somehow, we make it back to the mansion. He leads me through the various doors and into a room I can only assume to be Lila's study. It has a real door of wire instead of one the flimsy cotton strand ones. She sits on an enclave built into the wall of floating wire while she pokes at a tablet. There is a blanket laid out in the corner and a bowl full of the alcoholic water next to her, but otherwise, the room is bare.

Riel leaves me. I stand there, shivering. I can't work up anger yet. Can't focus on any emotion right now. It'll hurt too much.

She sets her tablet in her lap and looks up at me. "Report," she says.

"You k-k-killed them . . . " I begin to stammer out.

"I said _report_."

It takes me half a second to realize what she means. I force myself to pronounce each syllable.

"I d-d-didn't find anyth-thing about a-a-a s-s-secret w-weapon he m-m-might have, but I d-d-did see th-that he has a d-d-d-daughter you might not know about."

"Interesting," she says. "You're right, I didn't know he has a daughter. That will be useful. Continue."

I try to speak but nothing comes out. I sink until my knees hit the carpet.

"You had them killed," I manage to say this time.

"That I did," she agrees. "I do not tolerate disobedience, Kenny-dearest, as I had so hoped you'd learn by now."

"You killed them. You killed them. You fucking killed them!" And I'm on my feet again, stalking towards her, fists clenched. I don't know what I'm trying to accomplish, and I don't get anywhere, because her hand shoots out and she grabs me by the neck.

"I find your disobedience amusing." She climbs to her feet, still choking me. I struggle to breath but my vision dims.

She drops me to the floor and my legs give way. I end up sprawled, panting.

"But it's gone on long enough. Report, Kenny, dearest. Tell me what happened."

"I'll fucking kill you!" I scream, and I'm up again, fists raised, shrieking bloody murder.

I black out for a minute. When I come to, I'm hunched over with my back against the wall, blood pouring down my face and sticky in my eyes. My right shoulder has been popped out of its socket. I grit my teeth and roll it back into place. Whimpers escape me while it rotates. The agony lessens once it's positioned correctly, but it keeps on throbbing along with my heart. I wipe some of the blood from my eyes with my uninjured hand.

Lila crouches over me, her breath on my cheek, her knees spread over my legs. She relaxes back until she's sitting in my lap, entirely too close. She starts to play with my hair again. It's matted with drying blood.

"You're simply so adorable when you're injured," she murmurs. "You almost look dead. I quite like it."

I try to speak and nothing comes out.

Her fingers tighten in my hair, pulling my head towards her. Her lips brush my cheek, down over my jaw, sighing over my collarbone, towards the collar of my shirt.

"Let me go." My voice comes out scratchy and unrecognizable. "You killed them. You killed them. Please let me go."

I cry as she kisses my neck. With her left hand, she tears my shirt from my body. With her other, she slams my head back against the wall and covers up my lips with her own, smothering my sobs. I bite and when she pulls back her mouth drips pink-crimson blood. It just makes her smile wider.

I lurch and push. My attack must catch her by surprise, because she falls off me and I manage to get to my feet. First I stumble. Then I sprint.

I make it out the door, the scraps of my shirt falling from my torso. I'm in a hallway of sorts, cloth walls twisted with wire. Slaves smile as I stagger past them. I don't which way I'm going, how to get out of here. I hear Lila behind me, calling my name in a twisted singsong.

I find another door of twisted wire and burst into it. I'm in some sort of kitchen. Fires churn in open pits. Cooks shout orders and human slaves run around carrying trays full of food. Children wash plates in the corner. They stare at me when I enter. I glance back and Lila is after me. Not running; not racing. Just walking towards me.

My knees give way again and I end up on the floor. I'm still sobbing, everything shaking. Because they can't be dead. They can't.

Jea sits on a counter a few feet from me. It looks like he was in the middle of a conversation with a cook; now he's just frozen and watching.

I reach up. My hand latches onto the leg of his trousers. I cling to his ankle.

"Please," I say, and look up at him, and beg as best as I can with my bloody mouth and red-veined eyes. "Please help me."

He kicks me loose and pulls away, shivering. And I realize how pathetic I must look.

Lila grabs both my legs and drags me back. I scream and writhe but she hauls me over the hard-packed earth floor and out of the kitchen. And as soon as the door's shut, the kitchen sounds return to normal. We're out of sight; out of mind. They don't have to worry about me anymore.

I try to break free. She kicks me in the ribs twice, which effectively shuts me up for a few seconds. Then she forces me to my feet and drags me back through the halls, back for her study. When I keep on struggling and whimpering in that high-pitched, keening whine, she twists my injured arm.

I clamp down on my shriek of pain. She shoves open the door of her study and throws me onto the blanket on the floor. I curl up in the corner, as far away from her as I can get.

She shuts the door. For a second we just stare at each other.

I'm the first to speak.

"W-w-why don't you just use a sp-sp-spell or something to m-make me st-stop fighting?"

She sneers. "Where would the fun in that be?"

I begin to rise and she kicks me again.

"However," she says, "I will not tolerate any further attempt to fight me. Although I will never touch your free will. You simply wouldn't be as interesting without it."

I start to snarl at her, because I don't have anything left but primal responses and basic emotion and raw, raw wounds.

She grabs my chin and makes me look at her.

"You still have three siblings left, Kenny-dearest."

My throat tightens. I stare up at her for the longest seconds of my life. Then I close my eyes.

* * *

><p>I wake up alone in a pile of the blankets. I'm wearing my jeans, even though I don't remember pulling them back on. I touch my face, then my arms, then reach around to feel my back. Bruises and scratches decorate my flesh.<p>

I hide my head in my knees and cover myself with my arms. Light streams in from the tiny window in the corner.

I suppose back at home my brothers and sister must be panicking, convinced I'm dead. My friends are most likely scouring the fae world for my corpse. And right then, I don't care at all.

I hurt deep down in ways I never imagined.

"I was supposed to be the one who died," I whisper to no one. "It was just supposed to be me."

Lila steps through the door, bearing a cup of the watery substance. She sits down at her built-into-the-wall chair and sips it, ignoring me. She sits there, smug and satisfactory, and I remember every single inch of her. My breath speeds up.

_'I will not tolerate any further attempt to fight me.' _

"We already have the names of three humans," she says after a short while. I glance up at her. She's still focused on her drink. "We are scouring the human city you hail from in search of them. Now I want to know how you've been getting though the walls, and if there are any more humans associated with the rebellion in your world."

I reply without thinking, without considering the consequences. I tell her everything she wants to know without any more prompts. And when I'm done, I curl up even tighter and stare at the wall in front of me.

"Good for you," she says, and comes over and pats me on the head. I flinch. She smiles.

"From now on, I'd like you to call me 'Mistress.'"


	5. Chapter Five

I was too lazy to proofread for the longest time. Sorry about that. 5/10 chapters edited, yay!

Also, some things happen in this chapter that weren't supposed to happen in the original outline. You'll probably be able to tell because they feel very stupid. Why, Christophe, why? Why do you always do this to me?

Angst galore follows. Oh, Kenny, you are going to regret a lot of this chapter . . .

* * *

><p>Music:<p>

"Pressure Cracks" (Grieves)

"This is the House that Doubt Built" (A Day to Remember)

"Am I Not Human?" (Two Steps From Hell)

* * *

><p>I don't know how much time passes.<p>

She sends me over to the warehouse for brainwashing. I repeat words back and don't think about them.

She feeds me, sometimes.

* * *

><p>Everything still hurts.<p>

* * *

><p>"I need to see them, Mistress."<p>

She glances up at me from her tablet. I'm in the corner of her study, playing with trails of dirt in the ground, trying to block the numbness from my mind.

"My family," I say.

She arches her eyebrows.

"Kevin and Karen and Kieran. They're . . . they're still alive. I need to see them. I need to make sure everything's okay."

I chew on a hangnail blood rolls down my thumb. She doesn't respond.

Ten minutes later, I add, "I need my guitar, Mistress."

"Why's that?" she murmurs, still trailing her fingers over her tablet rock.

"Do you want me to go insane?" I look up at her. Then, in a touch of defiance I can hardly remember, I say, "I wrote a song about you once, Mistress."

"I remember," she says.

"I would play it for you if I had my guitar."

"Hmm," she says, and she's smirking. "Well, since you've been such a good pet lately, why not?"

* * *

><p>I've had virtually no contact with the world outside the mansion. I don't know what's been happening with the plans for the revolution. Maybe they gave up everything after their families were attacked. Maybe they ran like hell. The other slaves don't talk about it in front of me.<p>

Tomorrow I'll see. At least I'll know something.

Tonight, though, there is brainwashing.

I stand on the stage as the humans below scream and fight and writhe. They're from some forgotten part in Minnesota, and they all speak English. They scream up at me to help them. Larit's arms glow with her spells.

"Smile. You are happy to be here. You are happy to serve-"

I catch sight of someone in the crowd and nearly throw up.

Red. Bebe's girlfriend. Red. She's shaking like the rest of them, her eyes huge and staring up at me. I can tell she recognizes me.

I flip from how the hell did Red get in here? to, oh god Bebe must be destroyed. How the hell did Red -

I keep repeating the words and the crowd dies down, Red along with them. She gets the same glazed-over look in her eyes, and she starts smiling the fakest smile in the world. She trots after the rest of the newly-brainwashed humans. I stare after them. Jea jumps up onto the stage to lead me back to the mansion.

"I know her," I say, pointing at Red as she appears into the other section of the warehouse. "I know her. I know her. I fucking know her. How the hell did she end up here?"

Jea looks at me. Then he rubs his head. "I really don't want to get into this-"

"I know her!" I almost scream.

He twists and glares at me. "I get it, I get it," he snaps, snarls. "That's why, you get it? That other chick that was with the freaking rebellion had this girl as her partner. The rebellion in your world already hid all their families but the crew sent out to get them had pictures of those two together so we nabbed her anyway. Come on, we've got to get back to the mansion!"

He grabs my wrist and tugs me out into the open air.

* * *

><p>"You have nothing to gain by holding her here," I say.<p>

Lila is pressing her lips to my cheek and shoving me against the wall. "Hmm?" she mumbles as her lips move down over my skin.

She likes my torture and degradation to be in private, so she can claim all my screams as her own.

I don't cry anymore, though. Not after the first night.

"The girl we talked about before. Red. You should free her."

She keeps on kissing. "Kenny-dearest, I'm already allowing you one favor. Don't ask for another. And those humans need to be punished if we can't find them ourselves. It's just the way it needs to be."

I try to shake my head but I don't have any other options for movement.

"Please," I say.

She ignores me, just like usual.

* * *

><p>The bracelets lock around my wrists. They look innocent enough; opaque gray, rough in texture, thin bands of metal.<p>

Lila can track me with them, render me unconscious with them, and heat them up to indicate she wants my attention.

"Return within twenty-four hours," she says, "or you will be very, very sorry."

I nod and step out of the mansion on my own for the first time in . . . I still don't know how long.

Walking is hard. I've lost at least ten pounds and my muscles groan from the effort. The light beats down on me and I have to shield my eyes.

I walk to the portal slowly, and when I get there I just squat and stare at it for a few minutes.

I can go back and I can pretend everything's normal in a few days. This is the reasonable part of me talking.

And then another side of me, the side that sounds weirdly like Bebe, scolds me for my sense of justice. And that I have to act now or it'll be too late.

I shake my head. I can't decide, I don't want to decide. Not thinking about it is easier. I get to my feet and step through the portal.

* * *

><p>Black, charred ruins greet me the second I turn up my familiar street. The world around me is empty and gray. It still smells like smoke. It hasn't snowed since I jumped through the portal (how long ago . . . ?) so the slush is piled up on the lawns, in the gutters. Our lawn is parched earth and burnt cement.<p>

No one has bothered to clean anything up. Maybe that's how it always happens; maybe it's just South Park. I step through the remains of our door, just a door frame. Our kitchen is up ahead, or what should be our kitchen. Some of the sink and refrigerator remain, coated in ash. Rubble clutters my path. I step carefully so as to avoid nails. I'm barefoot. Some reasonable part of me insists that I should put on shoes to ward off hypothermia, but it's kind of difficult to care.

My bedroom was at the far end of the house. My mattress is ash. My posters and CDs are ash. My electric guitar is broken and black.

Two years ago, the summer before my freshman year of high school, I spent my days working with a clear-cutting team, employed by the city, making new hiking paths through the woods outside South Park. I worked eight hours a day for less than minimal wage. I died dozens of times in freak accidents. I spent the majority of the money paying for bills, since mom had lost her waitressing job and dad was still unemployed. But there was some money left over. I'd already had my acoustic guitar for several years, but with the remainder of my paycheck I splurged and bought my electric guitar and a supporting sound system.

And it was amazing.

The beat churning out under my fingers, the speakers screaming noise through the house, me singing nursery rhymes or Michael Jackson or nonsense syllables as loud as I could until the neighbors freaked out.

It was amazing.

Now it's gone.

My acoustic guitar was in its hard case at the time of the fire. I dig under the rubble and pull out the half-burnt case. I almost cry when I pull out my guitar, because even though strings have popped and snapped and torn the wood, it's only burnt at the edges. I kneel and hug it, as hard as I can without breaking it. It smells like fire. But it still feels the same.

* * *

><p>I have some emergency money hidden out by Stark's Pond. I dig it up and buy some new strings from the music store downtown and sit in the alley behind the library to tune it up again. The sound quality isn't great, and probably won't be until I get the wood repaired where it's burnt, but it sings in my hands again.<p>

When I was little, mom, despite being a total failure of a guardian figure, would attempt to sing nursery rhymes to me. The only one she could consistently hit on-key was 'Mary Had a Little Lamb.'

I strum it now in the key of G major. My lips don't want to work right but I force the words from my mouth anyway. And then, because I sort of hate everything, I switch to the key of B Minor and wail out the words and don't care how awful and desperate I sound-

"Kenny?"

I look up. Stan stands at the mouth of the alley, holding a football in one hand. Kyle is a few steps behind him, his hat lopsided on his head and his eyes huge. They both stare at me.

I stand up and brush dirt off my ass. For the first time, I'm aware that I'm wearing the bizarre fae clothing, but I don't really care.

"Hey, guys," I say.

"Jesus Christ, dude!"

Kyle rushes for me and grabs me up in a hug. I just stand there and let him curl his arms around me. Stan waits until Kyle releases me before scooping me up in his own hug.

"Dude," Stan says. "We thought you were dead. We heard about your house and your parents - and we thought you were dead."

"How long have I been gone?" I swing my guitar over my shoulder. Hopefully the singed strap will hold.

"A week and . . . two days, dude." Kyle grabs my arm. "Are you okay? That's fucking stupid, of course you're not okay. Where have you been? You haven't been at school. The police were frantic at first, but then . . . I dunno, dude, I just don't know. Where have you been?"

"Away," I say. It sounds stupid, and I feel the need to add onto it. "I've been away." Not that a complete sentence is much better. "I needed to . . . get out, you know?"

Stan and Kyle nod together. "Yeah," Kyle says. "I get it. Dude, you wanna come back to Stan's place? We were just throwing the football around but we're heading home. Do you have a place to crash?"

I shake my head. "I need to talk to Chris. Have you seen him?"

"He hasn't been at school." Stan looks at me sharply. "He and that English asshole-"

"Gregory?"

"Yeah, whatever. They haven't been at school. They disappeared . . . the day after your house burned down." Stan gets his I'm-figuring-something-out look, but I ignore it.

"What about Bebe? Has she been at school?"

"Yeah, she- No. Wait. I haven't seen her. I have a couple of classes with her." Kyle rubs his eyes and stares up at me. "Something's going on. Something huge."

I shake my head and start to walk in the opposite direction the alley. "I need to find Chris or Gregory or Bebe."

Kyle grabs my wrist and forces me to face him. He's seething, teeth clenched, eyebrows furrowed.

"Look, Stan and I will get it figured out, but you need to come back with us or something, because you look like you've been to hell and back in the last nine days! Take a shower and get something to eat. You were a skinny asshole before and now you're a stick! Come on!" Then he starts to drag me in the direction of Stan's house, his firm grip not allowing for any debate.

Stan's mother sees me enter and immediately starts to mix up cookie dough. My poor-kid instincts squeal with the prospect of free food. For some reason, I open my mouth and start to say, "You don't have to, Ms. Marsh-"

Then Stan drags me upstairs and dumps me in his shower.

They only have baths in the fae world. The water streams down my body and rinses me free of the ash and grime from my wrecked house. I close my eyes and lean my head against the shower door.

When I peek my head out the bathroom, Stan has a pile of clothes waiting for me. He's a little bit taller than me and more muscular, so they droop from my body when I put them on. The house smells of baking cookies, melting butter, and sweet chocolate when I reemerge into Stan's room. My guitar is on the bed, next to Stan and Kyle. I sit and begin to fiddle with it.

Stan is punching numbers into his phone. Kyle gestures for me to be quiet. A few seconds later, Stan puts the phone up to his ear.

"Uh, hey. Wendy."

The sheer awkwardness leeching out from the phone line makes me wince. Stan listens for a few seconds.

"I'm okay, I guess. Yeah. Um. So. Your new boyfriend."

This time, Kyle and I make faces of disgust together.

"Yeah. D'you, you know . . . happen to have his number?"

"He told you not to contact him because it could be dangerous? What?"

Kyle glowers at me, as if to say, 'we know you're keeping something from us.'

"His work? The hell? What does he do, anyway?"

"How could you not know?"

Stan puts his phone down. "Ken, what does Gregory do?"

"He's a . . . mercenary? A civil rights activist?"

"Right." Stan puts the phone back up to his ear. "He's a part-time mercenary and a full-time dickwad. You should dump him."

She must be pissed, because I can hear her squeaky voice through his phone, and what she says is not pretty. Stan scowls.

"Yeah, well, I need his number. Kenny needs to talk to him."

"I don't know why. Just tell me."

Stan gestures frantically and Kyle hands him a pen and a pad of paper. He writes down a set of numbers and hands it to me.

"Thanks. I guess."

Pause.

"You should still dump him."

He slams the phone shut before she can start yelling at him again, and turns to me.

"Want me to call him for you?" he offers.

I nod, my throat dry. I don't know what I'm supposed to say to them. The truth, I suppose. If only the truth wasn't so real, then saying it aloud would be easy.

Stan dials the number. He doesn't even say hi this time, just jumps right into the conversation. "Yeah. So. You assmunching freak. Yeah, it's me. Kenny is at my house and he- Yeah, he's here. Like thirty minutes ago. Yeah, he's alive. He's okay, too." He puts the phone down, and looks at me with a straight face. "Kenny, are you brainwashed?"

I freeze up. All the humor drops from Stan's voice. He and Kyle exchange a look.

"No," I say.

Stan resumes talking to Gregory. "Um. I don't think he is. Hopefully not. Yeah. Come here, I guess. If you have to. An hour? Okay."

He snaps the phone shut. Both he and Kyle stare at me. I start strumming my guitar again. My fingers are rough and clumsy, but I make it work.

"Dude," Kyle says in a low voice, "what the fuck is going on?"

I shake my head and keep strumming.

"Kenny," Stan snaps. "Goddamn it, fucking give us something."

"The less you know, the better." I stay hunched over my guitar. I hit a D chord, and my fingers slip, turning it flat and off-key.

"Dude!" Kyle starts. I glare up at him.

"Just freaking trust me on something for once, okay?"

Stan's mom barges in without knocking. She bears a plateful of cookies, which she deposits in my lap.

"Ah, mom!" Stan whines. "Not when my friends are over!"

"Eat up!" she chirps to me, effectively ignoring him. "Anything else I can get for you, hon? Something to drink? Some clothes? A place to stay the night? A college fund?"

"Uh . . . that's okay."

"Just call me if you need anything!" She whirls out of the room.

"Shut the door!" Stan yells, and she obeys.

Stan starts to glare at me again, fists clenched. He starts with a "Dude-". Then Kyle grabs his wrist and gives him a look, a look I can't understand because I don't have their super-secret best friend connection.

"Kenny," Kyle says. "Are you going to be okay?"

I shake my head, staring down at the cookies. My fingers trail over the neck of my guitar lying next to me. "I don't know," I say. I pluck the low E string. "I really doubt it."

"What the fuck have you gotten yourself into?" Stan hisses.

I shake my head. Kyle glares at Stan again. They have a whole conversation with just their stares I can't possibly hope to decode. Kyle seems to win with his signature glare. They both turn to me at the same time and Stan grabs my shoulder.

"Dude," he says. "No matter what happens, no matter what the fuck you get into, we just want to to know-"

"We'll always be there for you," Kyle finishes. "You can trust us."

We're silent for a second. Then I pick up cookie and take a bite. It's hot enough to blister my tongue, and I hold my mouth open for a few seconds to cool it down. When I start to chew again, chocolate spreads over my tongue. I swallow, hard. It's good. It's really good.

I finish the cookie with a second bite. My tongue still hurts. I place the plate of cookies next to my guitar and pull my knees up to my chest.

"Thanks," I say, and my voice cracks. "You guys are the best friends in the whole world. I wish . . . I wish we'd never grown apart. I don't know what I'd do without you. And. Uh. I don't know what I'm going to do."

They attack me with hugs, with pillows, tackling me over Stan's bed until I'm pretty much forced to start smiling again for the first time in nine days.

* * *

><p>By the time Gregory arrives, I've finished my plate of cookies and have made myself three PB&amp;J sandwiches with materials I find in my raid of Stan's fridge. My guitar is slung over my shoulder when I open the door.<p>

He looks like he hasn't slept in a while. His normally-perfect combed-back blond hair has one - no, two! - strands out of place. He appraises me for a few seconds, then says, "You look like hell."

"So do you," I say, even though he really doesn't. I rub my wrists where the bracelets bite into my flesh. He watches the bracelets for a few seconds, then looks back up at me again.

"How are you?"

"Terrible."

"I expected as much. Where have you been? We've been worried."

"The fae world."

"I also expected as much. It's surprising you're alive."

"Yeah," I say.

He waits.

I sigh. "I'll tell you guys about it. All of it. When we get to wherever you're hiding out. I just . . . don't want to have to say it twice. It's hard, you know? Everything that's happened to me. I don't . . . I've been lying." And I shut up now, because the words have started to hurt, and they make me remember, and they make me realize what I've done, and I don't want to do anything but recite back what people tell me.

His eyes narrow, but he nods. Stan and Kyle move up to stand behind me, their arms crossed like they're trying to protect me from him or something. Stan glowers at Gregory.

"I'm going with him," I say.

"Yes," Gregory agrees. "It's not safe for us to be out in the open like this. I suspect they are still looking for us."

Kyle grits his teeth. "Look after him," he orders.

"Kenny can look after himself," Gregory says with some amusement, "but I'll do some extra watching-over if it makes you feel better."

He gestures, and I follow him out of the house, feeling like I'm going to my doom, except that's really stupid. I spare one last glance back at the guys before stepping up to Gregory's car.

Gregory brought his Volvo. It's worth more than I will probably ever make in my lifetime. I stick my guitar in the back and sit up in the passenger's seat. I fiddle with the radio channel while he maneuvers down the street.

"I am sorry," he says.

I glance at him.

"None of this would have happened . . . none of this would have happened to you if I had not gotten you involved." He keeps his gaze fixed straight ahead.

Gregory feeling guilty? I better warn Damien, because hell is freezing over.

"It wasn't you," I say. "This started before you. It was the fae who burned down my house, and I brought them on myself. It wasn't you. It was all me."

He fidgets, and I see he's burning with questions from the way his lips purse together, but he keeps quiet as we drive. I find a country station I can stand and turn the volume up to fill the silence.

We drive down the highway, then turn right off an intersection I don't recognize, then onto another intersection, deep into the forest with the trees towering above us. Their branches obscure the sun, darkening the already dim late-afternoon trees. I hunch over and close my eyes as I listen to the music.

Gregory turns off the road and onto a gravel street. After about a mile, he parks at the side of the road, hidden under a clump of trees. He gets out and I copy him, grabbing my guitar from the back. It occurs to me then that the guitar is pretty much the only thing I own in this world. The clothes on my back aren't even mine.

We follow a footpath for a few hundred yards. Up ahead looms a huge summer house, resting on the banks of a lake.

"I purchased this place a while ago," he says when he sees my raised eyebrows. "Chris likes to call it the Shed because this is where I 'store all ze black parts of my life.'" His interpretation of Christophe is still uncanny. "Basically, it's my base of operations. It's not a registered house, either - I had a friend hack in into the databases and make certain of that - so no one can track me here. It's completely safe. We even have our own electricity generator and wifi ports."

"You own this place?" It's about ten times the size of my family's house. Before our house burned down, anyway.

"What can I say," Gregory says. "The mercenary work pays well."

There's a clearing around the house, enough for grass to grow next to the path where we walk. He knocks on the door. Before he can open it, the door bursts open and Bebe jumps into my arms.

She squeezes me tightly enough to choke me, burying her face into my shirt, hands linked behind my back. I stagger back and she keeps on clinging. Her shoulders shake. I think she's crying but can't be sure.

Then she releases me and steps back, wiping her red face.

"Okay," she says. "You're okay. Okay. That's good."

Her expression crumples and she hides her face in her arms.

I step up to her and hold her. She grabs me again, whispering "I'm sorrys" and "oh god I'm so scared" and "thank god you're okay" and all I can do is chew on my lip and hold back my sorrow because no one wants to see me cry.

After about a minute of this Christophe emerges from the house, sucking on a cigarette. He looks me up and down, then mutters, "Fucking took you long enough."

Gregory herds us all inside. It looks even richer on the inside, thick carpet and glimmering staircases and framed portraits of what look to be various political prisoners. Gregory sets me down on a couch and migrates to the kitchen to heat up some water for tea. Christophe and Bebe attack me with questions, but I shake my head and hug a pillow.

I lean my guitar against the wall. I desperately want to play it and sing and forget about everything for just a little bit, but I can't.

Someone steps down the stairs. It's Jenna. I stare her for a few seconds. She stares back at me.

"What's she doing here?" I start.

Then she snaps out, "You. I fucking remember you. You work for them!"

Bebe and Christophe glance up at her, then back at me.

"He's a traitor!" She's almost yelling by now. "Alphonse! Sara! You guys remember him, right? He brought us that drugged water that one time and we scared him out!"

I realize she said it in Lyah and barely keep myself from protesting in the same language.

Five other human rebels run down the stairs and join her on the ground level. They all watch me as if I'm about to explode and kill them.

"What are they doing here?" I ask Christophe, my gaze still locked with Jenna's.

"Ze fae finally gave up and attacked ze cave," he says, examining me. "Zey were ze only ones fit enough to get out, zrough ze tunnel I'd dug a few days ago. Zey are still 'ealing. Everyone else was killed. Ze 'ostage died in ze attack. Ees any of what she says true?"

I open my mouth to say no, then shut it. I glance back at my guitar. I glance up at Jenna. I look everywhere except Bebe and Christophe.

Then I say, "Yeah."

Gregory brings a mug of tea into the living room and hands it to me. He sits on the couch across from me and says, "Explain. Now. Everything."

* * *

><p>"I die," I say, "all the time."<p>

Christophe groans. "Ah, not zis again!"

"Shut the hell up!" I snap. I almost shatter the cup of tea in my hand. I place it on the coffee table in front of me before I can bring about any serious damage. "Don't you think, if I keep talking about it, that there might be a little bit of truth to it?"

"Or you could be crazy."

"I said shut up! Just shut up and listen to me!"

I clench my fists.

At least everyone is quiet now.

"All right," Christophe says after a while. "Go on."

And so I tell them. I tell them everything. When one of them interrupts I just tell them to shut up and let me finish. I only answer Bebe when she asks, in a small voice, "Red's okay?"

I nod. "She's alive. And . . . and . . . she hasn't been under for that long . . . so . . ."

"She's brainwashed," she says.

"Yeah."

"She's one of their fucking slaves now."

Nod.

Bebe curls up in the fetal position and no one else speaks until I finish.

Gregory has been sipping from his own mug of tea for this entire time, pinkie extended. Now he inspects me with arched eyebrows, chewing his lip.

"This is extremely fantastical," he admits.

"More fantastical than a bunch of faeries coming from an alternate dimension and enslaving humans?"

"The thought that we cannot remember your deaths, that you have no explanation for them-"

"I don't know why," I say in a low voice. "I don't know why it works like this. But I'm telling the truth. I've been telling the truth for years, and none of you believe me.

"I-"

"I can speak any language you throw at me," I say. "I got out of the fae world alive. Doesn't that count for something? Look! Jenna, you talk to me! See if I can respond."

"You're a fucking traitor to your own species," she says in Lyah.

I wince and work up the courage to reply.

"I already explained my reasons. I - I didn't mean to hurt anyone-" I know my mouth must glow blue as I speak, because the others freak out and ogle me.

"That's fluent," Jenna stammers out in English.

"Fucking 'ell," Christophe says.

"All right," Gregory says. "So you have a spell on you. All right. That doesn't mean you had to die to get it."

"How does this make sense, then?" I almost scream. "How am I here right now if I can't live through anything? Jenna, you know! You would never have let a human out of that cave that day I brought you water if you thought I was going to be dangerous to you. You killed me that day, and you know it!"

Everyone watches her. She hunches over against the wall, arms around her body, shaking her head. "I don't remember-" she mumbles. "I don't remember at all. I just . . I don't even know what I know."

No one speaks.

Finally, Gregory speaks up again.

"I believe you."

I inhale and exhale.

"This is South Park," Gregory says. "It is extremely illogical that Kenny should die and come back to life, but then, who are we to say what is illogical? It fits in well with his story. He's telling the truth."

"'Ow do you know zat?" Christophe says, glaring at me. I almost shy away at the disgust in his eyes. Christophe only looks at his enemies like that.

"I agree, ze dying zing ees true, oui, but 'ow do you know ze rest of eet ees true? 'E is working for ze fairy freaks. 'E's obeyed 'er and 'elped her brainwash people."

"They killed his parents!" Bebe yells, and I flinch. "Why the hell would he help them?"

"Fear!" Christophe yells back. "'E's fucking afraid of zem! Everyzing een what 'e's said makes it so! 'E's always done what she says, 'ow do you know 'e eesn't 'ere now on 'er orders-"

"I'm here because I want to!" I scream at him. "I'm here because I fucking cared about you assholes, God knows why! And I'm sorry! I'm sorry! I'm so fucking sorry for what I've done, please, please believe me-"

"Kenny?"

We all freeze. I glance up and see Karen at the top of the stairs. She's wearing a nightdress and rubbing her eyes while she yawns.

"This is really loud dream," she mumbles.

I jerk to my feet and run up the stairs in a heartbeat. My arms go around her and I hoist her into the air, hugging her, clinging to her almost. She wakes up for real then and starts hugging me back and-

* * *

><p>All of the families are staying in several of the numerous guest rooms upstairs. I'm the only one with siblings, but the other three have all brought their parents. I spend about half an hour hugging Karen, playing with Kieran, and chatting with Kevin before Gregory orders them back upstairs.<p>

Everyone complies except Kevin, who stays downstairs, focused on me.

"I'm older than all you guys," he says. "I can help out, too, you know."

Gregory shakes his head. "I don't want to get any more people involved than necessary. Please. Go upstairs."

Kevin hesitates, and I nod.

Then just the ten of us remain. I guess we're all that Gregory's little rebellion consists of. At least when Lila asks about it, I'll be able to say our group is insignificant.

"You guys have to trust me."

"'E's right," Christophe mutters. "We 'ave to trust 'im. We don't 'ave any ozzer choice. We can lock 'im up but 'e'll find a way to kill 'imself eventually. We don't 'ave a choice."

He's still glaring at me

"Blast." Gregory rubs his eyes. I am momentarily filled with euphoria that Gregory said 'blast' in his British accent. Coolest moment of my life, ever.

"We need your word," Gregory says.

"I came back," I say. "Isn't that enough?"

"No."

"You can trust me."

"Until she zreatens you again." Christophe sits down with his back against the wall. "'Ow much power does zis . . . Lila cunt 'ave over you?"

Gregory and Bebe wince at his word choice.

"A lot," I mutter. "But if she doesn't know where Kevin and Karen and Kieran are right now . . . I think I'll be okay. She can threaten other people, but I think I'll be okay. Wait. Is Wendy here?"

"Wha- no. She's back in South Park. I haven't been seeing her much."

"Bring her here!" I almost yell. "Why do you think she had Red kidnapped? She knows who you guys are and she wants to fucking hurt you! If she finds out you're seeing Wendy then she'll take her and break her, too! Fucking bring her here before Lila gets to her! Go! Now!"

I almost throw him out of the house. I'm trembling when I return to the living room. Nothing like what happened to me can ever happen to anyone else.

The others are staring at me. I put my head in my hands.

"Sorry," I say. "Sorry."

* * *

><p>Late that night, after the others have gone to bed, I climb up onto the roof and stare out at the forest, out to where it collides with the sky.<p>

My bare toes hang over the gutter. I'm three stories up, but it might as well be a million feet. With my luck, I would die upon impact. Wind whistles through my bones. I hug myself tighter.

The window below me scratches and groans. A few seconds later, Christophe pokes his head over the edge of the roof. He climbs up next to me and lights a cigarette. He doesn't have his shovel with him. I can't remember the last time I saw him without his shovel.

He lights a cigarette for me, and we smoke in silence. After ten minutes, when our cigarettes are burned out and we're just staring at sky, he finally speaks up.

"I am sorry about zose zings I said earlier."

I snort. First Gregory, now Christophe's apologizing?

"Eet's not fair," he continues, ignoring my outburst. "I mean – I know what eet ees like to be afraid. And what eet makes you do. I remember from my time in ze lab where I got my . . . abilities. I was always afraid back zen and I did whatever zey wanted because I didn't want zem to 'urt me anymore. I zink . . . I zink eet was mostly because I was a bit angry at myself zat I got so angry at you."

"What's your point?" I tip my head and look at him.

"I never believed you," he says.

He seems like he wants me to say something.

"All zose years," he says. "You would turn up exhausted-looking and stressed and close to tears, and I would ask you what 'appened, and you would . . . you would say you 'ad died. And I wouldn't believe you. And I said you were full of bullsheet."

"It's okay," I say. "Everyone else said that same."

"Zat's not eet," he says fiercely. "Eet doesn't matter what everyone else does, eet matters what I do, understand? And what I did was not ze right zing for a friend to do. I should 'ave believed you. I should 'ave."

I direct my attention to the ground below me and don't say anything.

Four figures break free of the trees. I tense, about to take action, and then relax when I recognize them. Gregory leads the way, followed by Wendy, who has her arms crossed and walks with a stiff gait. Then there's . . . Stan and Kyle? Fuck. How did that happen - Wendy must have-

Stan and Kyle notice me and Christophe on the roof. I wave down at them. Stan says something to Gregory, something I can't make out. 'The Shed' is getting very full by now.

A few minutes later, they've disappeared into the house and we've had time to collect our thoughts. I still have nothing to say to Christophe.

"You are going to get 'urt," Christophe says.

I nod.

"You've already been 'urt."

Another nod.

"I am so sorry," he says, his tone just a growl. "If only I 'ad gone wiz you zat night zree weeks ago . . . maybe zen none of zis would 'ave 'appened."

I shake my head. He knows it's not his fault, I know it's not his fault, and I don't have to say anything else.

"You 'ave to go back," he says, and there's no fight in his voice.

"She'll hurt me if I don't. She'll hurt anyone she can get her hands on if I don't."

"Be careful," he says, and kisses me.

His lips are surprisingly warm. He tastes like cigarette smoke. Lila always tastes like the bitter fruit. When he pulls away I stare at him.

"I do not want to get 'urt," he says, and pulls another cigarette from his pocket. He lights it and starts to smoke.

I touch my lips and I honestly have no fucking clue what to say. Only Christophe would . . . fucking kiss me and act so fucking nonchalant about it.

Then he puts an arm around me and pulls me close into hug.

Okay, I think, this isn't so bad. I can deal with this. Hugs are okay. Hugs are perfectly okay.

"I wish I could tell you not to worry," he says, "but eet would be a fucked-up lie and zere 'ave already been enough lies and fucking up between us."

* * *

><p>Gregory is making himself more tea when I pad back into the living room downstairs. Christophe has already gone back to bed.<p>

"Kyle and Stan, too?" I ask, sitting at the kitchen table.

I have a headache from not enough sleep but I don't have many more hours free and I don't want to spend them unconscious.

"They were over at Wendy's house when I arrived," he says. "They wouldn't let me take her away until I explained. And then, of course, they wanted to come too. Just spend a few nights helping out, like a revolution is some sort of child's game."

"About that," I say, "how's it going?"

I get up and rummage through the fridge. I find a half-eaten apple pie, which is pretty much the best moment of my entire life. Gregory watches me with mild disgust while I tear into it.

"Not as well as I'd hoped," he says. "So many people in the human realm are getting involved . . . the humans are too scared . . . and now there are civilians like Red and Stan and Kyle and Wendy getting in the way . . . "

He shakes his head and sips his tea.

"I still require assistance with the mission regarding the magicians," he says. "Now more than ever. Although I might have you and Jenna perform the mission, since you both can speak their language and English."

"Jenna hates me."

He raises his eyebrows.

I shrug. "I don't know if I can help with the mission. It's really difficult to get away from her. Mistre- I mean, Lila."

"You were just about to call her-'

"I wasn't. No. I wasn't."

He appraises me for a second, then says, "Please make it work. If you can, get down to the central market at noon in two days' time. I'll send Christophe down there with instructions."

"Are you sure it's safe for Chris-"

"It's Christophe. I'm not particularly concerned about him."

We both crack smiles.

Then I say, "He kissed me."

Gregory stops drinking from his tea. He raises his eyebrows and looks at me. "Did he now."

"Are you jealous of me?"

He gets the same horrified expression I've come to expect from him and Christophe regarding the possibility of romantic feelings towards each other.

"What does it mean?"

"Since it's Christophe," Gregory says, "it means whatever the hell he wants it to mean."

I rub my temples and decide it really doesn't matter, because tomorrow Lila reclaims me and her frozen lips will scrape away any trace of another human being from me, until all that's left of Kenny McCormick is a skeleton.

"Okay," I say. "I'm on for the mission, if I can."

* * *

><p>The next morning, Christophe cooks. He's surprisingly talented, even if he does smoke while doing so, and the house fills with the aroma of frying bacon. It must be because he's French.<p>

My siblings are downstairs, along with Gregory, Stan, Kyle and Wendy. I nod at the three newcomers and feel kind of bad for getting them somehow involved in this wreck.

"S'up," I say, and sit down at the only available seat next to Wendy. Just then, Bebe pads into the kitchen, wearing sweatpants and a t-shirt, rubbing her eyes. Her curly hair flares up around her head like a lion's mane. She nods at Wendy, then leans against the fridge for lack of somewhere better to sit.

My brother kind of just sits with his mouth open in his perpetual stoner-high. I've decided that he's not actually a pothead, he just has all the ambitions and personality of one. Karen is crying into the sleeve of her sweater as she spoons mushy cheerios into Kieran's mouth.

Christophe slides a plate of bacon in front of me, then a plate of toast, and a mug of coffee. My stomach rumbles. Those cookies were a long time ago. I begin to wolf down the food, and it tastes orgasmically good.

The sun is rising, and I know I don't have much time. I didn't sleep at all last night, so the world around me doesn't make much sense. I vaguely register various people pulling me into hugs. Bebe is crying again, so I get on my knees with my guitar in position and write another song.

"Reeeeed, oh Reeeed-

Don't worry, we'll save you

The revolution

Is going to succeed."

It makes her cry even harder, but she hugs me, guitar and all, and I hope I've made a promise I can keep.

Gregory drives me into town. I doze off on the way, even with a full cup of coffee churning in my veins. My guitar feels like battle armor. I clutch it as I walk up to the portal.

I feel like I should wave goodbye to him, but I don't.

* * *

><p>I've barely walked into Lila's mansion when Jea drags me down to a warehouse for brainwashing. Everything passes in a blur. Then he brings me back to the mansion, but Lila is nowhere to be found. He deposits me in her study and I barely have time to lean my guitar in the corner of the room before I pass out.<p>

I wake to Lila prodding me with the tip of her boot. "Up," she says. "You have more brainwashing to do. And I have a job to tell you about."

"Nnnmmpph what?" I sit up straight, rub my eyes, and add, "Mistress."

She is amused. That's usually a good thing. It means she's not going to hurt me.

"Ala's daughter. He is coming over for a chat and some hospitality tomorrow afternoon. We're going to have a friendly business chat. I want to go to the house where you saw her-"

"And kidnap her?"

"Don't interrupt me, and don't be silly. I want you to talk to her and be friends with her. Enough that she'll tell Ala about it later."

"Ummmm . . . doesn't it mean he'll try to kill me?"

"It will scare him. Scared fae make mistakes. Scared fae hand over part of their empire to protect their loved ones."

I begin to stand up, my joints popping. "Do you have anyone he could threaten?"

She looks at me sharply, and I realize what my question sounded like. I open my mouth to protest, but she tells me anyway.

"My brother, I suppose."

"Your brother?"

"He lives in this mansion. He is insane and fragile. My parents also live here, but they are decrepit and I do not care about them, and Ala knows this."

"But you care about your brother . . .?"

"I never said that. And stop asking me these questions, Kenny-dearest, or I'll think you've got some sort of grudge against me." She laughs.

The she orders me to report everything that happened to me upon entering the human world.

I freeze up, but manage to tell her about picking up my guitar . . . then meeting my friends, but not telling them about her . . . then finally, Gregory picking me up.

"Ah. This Gregory child. Is he the rebel we've heard is called 'The Englishman?'"

" . . .yeah . . .?" How did the stupid nicknames of his become common knowledge? Then I remember the human rebels.

She smirks at me. "I do believe you're the one referred to as 'The Singer'."

"That's me." I shrug.

I say I don't know where Gregory took me because I was kind of asleep, although I could maybe find it again on my own. I stayed with them, but I told them I was captured by a fae and she was just letting me visit. I promised I wouldn't say anything and they had no choice to believe me because of the dying thing.

"So they know about that."

I shrug.

"Damn," she says. "I wanted that to be my secret weapon. You've disappointed me, Kenny-dearest. You barely have any information for me but you've been giving away all my secrets."

_It's _my _secret, bitch_, some part of my snaps. _It's always been _my _secret._

"They want you to help them," she says, although I've said nothing of it.

"I will allow it," she adds.

I blink.

She laughs.

"If you're in with them," she says, "you can feed me information. I truly doubt they're going to be able to accomplish much now that they don't have the Aliesh's son as a hostage, but it's always good to keep tabs on human groups that know about us."

"Who says I will?" I glare at her, fists clenched. Then I add, "Mistress."

"You _will,"_ she says, and she smiles.

* * *

><p>The next day, after Ala arrives, I wait by the door and listen to their conversation for a few minutes.<p>

They go through the normal greetings and idle talk. In the midst of it, Ala asks:

"Where is that pet of yours?"

"It looks like I'm not fit to own a pet," Lila says with a sigh. "They might be deceptively thicker than us, but they break horribly easy."

"That's too bad," Ala says without a hint of suspicion. I breathe a sigh of relief, because he must not remember me stalking him through the city. Sometimes the dying thing can be pretty useful.

I sneak out of the mansion and hit the streets running. It's a bit after noon, from the position of the two suns in the sky. I don't know if Christophe will still be in the market. I'm panting, dripping sweat by the time I reach the throngs of fae. I put on my best 'brainwashed' face as I search the crowd for him.

"Hey!" someone cries in English.

I turn, and there's Christophe, about fifty feet away, his arms crossed and scowling. He somehow located a set of fae clothing, and he's left his shovel hidden somewhere, but his expression still makes him stick out. I exhale and jog over to him.

He grabs me in a hug, almost smothering me. "You idiot," he mumbles. "You are all right."

_Yeah. Yeah, I wish._

"Let me go," I whisper. "We're too obvious."

He releases me, and I glance around the market. People gather around a slave auction a few hundred yards away. Smiling children are being sold. Fae pass by us, avoiding us with the disgust most fae give to humans.

Christophe glowers at the auction. His fingers twitch. And I can tell he's going to do something stupid, and I can tell it's not going to work, so I grab his arm and force him to stay still with a glare.

"What are the plans? I don't have much time, I have somewhere else I have to be at. Oh, and she's probably going to order me to tell her everything I do for you guys. What should I say?"

"Does she know you are meeting me?"

"No. Um. I don't think so."

"Good. Try to keep eet zat way. If she knows, zen make somezing up. Gregory wants you for a mission for several 'ours tomorrow night. Do you zink you can sneak away again?"

"Um. Maybe." There was probably brainwashing tomorrow night. If I could convince Jea to cover for me . . .

"Good." He hands me an envelope. "'Ere. Be at zis address tomorrow. Zat's a map, ze address where you need to be ees marked. Oh, also-" He pulls another map from under his shirt and folds it open for me. "Mark where zis 'Lila' lives."

The ballpoint pen he gives me has been well-loved; chew marks run up the sides. I roll it between my fingers while I think. Finally, I pinpoint the wealthy section of the city, which Lila said is called 'Halive' and cross an X over her house.

"Good," Christophe says. "Zat's just een case. Gregory will brief you on the mission tomorrow. 'Es also told me to pick up one of ze stones that allow you to get een and out of ze city. Ze security ees getting tighter and I could not dig een today because of ze spells. I 'ad to resort to ozzer mezods. Can I 'ave yours?"

"Yeah, sure," I say, and pull it off. "I think I'm going to die this afternoon anyways, so I'll have an excuse for not having it."

He stares at me.

"What? You remember that I-"

"I remember," he says. "I just . . . did not think eet would be so casual like zat."

"It's not casual, it fucking sucks." I hand him the stone. He curls it into his fist.

"I have to go," I say. "I have a job to do for Lila and if I don't complete it she'll be really pissed and I really don't want her to be pissed."

He looks at me warily. "Ees eet going to 'urt ze revolution?"

"What? Oh. No. It's more about her personal gain. She's not too worried about the revolution at this point. She thinks you guys are pretty harmless."

Christophe grins. "Wait until she sees what we 'ave planned for zis evening."

"What you have planned?" I stare at him. "Um, is it dangerous?"

"Extremely."

"What is it?"

"You'll see."

"Dude, don't do anything dangerous. You can't come back to life like me-"

"I'm Christophe DeLorn," he says with a scoff. "I've been kicking dangerous's ass since I was eight years old. Do not worry about me. Alzough eet ees razzer sweet of you."

And then he kisses me again.

It's not the same quick, fast peck as last time. This time he takes longer to breathe me in, our lips mashed together for several seconds. When he pulls me away I still don't know what to do about it.

He grins at me, says, "please, for ze love of zat fucking asshole Jesus Christ, be safe on whatever mission you 'ave you to do."

"Y-y-you too," I stammer out. He turns and saunters off through the crowd. I stare after him for a few seconds, then shake my head and run in the direction of Ala's daughter's place.

I honestly have no fucking clue what to make of those . . . ugh, kisses. My straight-ness informs me I must kick his ass if he ever tries something like that again. And there's another part of me that's so desperate and lonely and sobbing for human attention that I don't care what kind I get.

He's preying off my desperation, I realize. He might not realize it but that's what he's doing. I have to tell him to stop before . . . I dunno. Something bad happens.

The run to Ala's daughters house takes longer than I thought it would. I'm still sweaty and sticky by the time I stop. At least there are fewer fae on this side of the city. I creep around the side of the tent thing and peek into a window. There's a huge fae, about eight and a half feet tall, cooking something in a pot. He appears to double for both the bodyguard and the chef.

In another window, peeking through another room of the tent-house, the little four-year-old girl plays with a bunch of floating, colored stones. Ala's daughter. I ease the window open. She stops playing and watches me, her eyebrows bunched together in confusion.

"Shh." I put my finger to my lips. "Quiet, sweetheart. I'll be thrown out otherwise."

"Who are you?" she whispers.

"My name's Kenny. Do you want to play?"

Just like Kieran would be, she's thrilled to have a playmate. She teaches me how to play a game with the floating stones. We have to pass them back and forth to each other by flicking them with our fingertips. She's faster at it than me, and soon she has all the stones on my side.

"I win!" she whispers, her eyes shining.

"Good job!" I hold my hand up for a high-five. She stares at me.

"You, um, smack it with your hands out like this."

"Why?"

"Because-" I don't actually know. "Just do it, it's a grownup thing."

"Okay." She smacks me kind of hard. I forgot how strong the fae are. Somehow I manage to keep my smile on.

"What's your name, sweetheart?"

"Gula. Gula Denevive of the Srensren house." She giggles. I raise my eyebrows, duly impressed.

"That's really cool, Gula. Hey, do you know what your daddy does?"

"My daddy comes here every night to say hi to me before going to his own house. He says I can't stay with him because . . . because it's too dangerous." She scowls and flicks another stone in the air to me.

"Yeah. He has a lot of enemies beause his job isn't very nice."

Her eyes widen. "It isn't?"

I change the subject. "Hey, Gula, do you ever go down to the market?"

"Yeah! Sometimes with Bromer!" Bromer must be the giant-bodyguard-chef thing. "It's really fun!"

"Yeah. I've been there, too, and I really like it." Most of her stone pieces are on my side of our line now; I'm loosing by a lot. "Except for one thing. Have you seen the slave auctions, Gula?"

Her eyes widen. "Yeah! I've seen them! I don't like them. They're scary! The humans always look so happy when they're up there but I don't think they're happy at all! Except my friends at school say that's stupid, that they're smiling so they must be happy. Were you happy when you were up on the stage, Kenny?"

"I wasn't sold like that, so I don't know," I say, "but I can tell you the truth about something, and that's that they're not happy at all. They secretly hate being up there, but people like your father force them to smile."

Her eyes get even bigger. She just stares at me for a second. By now we've stopped playing the game.

"Daddy does that?"

"That's his job."

"But . . . but . . . " Her lower lip quivers. "Daddy's nice."

I pat her on the head, feeling like a tool and an asshole. "Just because he's nice to you doesn't mean he's nice to everyone else."

She starts to sob. Looks like I've done the necessary damage.

Then the door to room slams open. The giant-bodyguard-chef, Bromer, stands in the doorway. He jerks when he sees me, grabs me up and shoves me up against the wall.

"Who do you work for?" he snarls.

I adopt one of the ridiculously happy, brainwashed-human smiles, even though his hand around my neck really hurts.

"It's nice to meet you, too, sir!" I say in my most upbeat voice. Meanwhile, Gula is screaming.

"_Who do you work for?"_

"Why, my Mistress told me not to tell anyone that piece of information!" I keep smiling, despite the lack of air.

Bromer growls in frustration and crushes my windpipe. I die a few seconds later. If she remembers any of this at all, Gula will be appropriately scarred for life.

* * *

><p>I wake up a few hundred feet from Satan's apartment in Hell. I decide to visit Damien, as he'll probably just track me down anyways. I just hope he isn't torturing anyone.<p>

He's reading a Superman comic book in the living room of their apartment. Satan is nowhere to be seen.

"Oh, hey," Damien says when I enter the room. He puts the book down. "Wanna go see the carnival?"

It's not like I have anything better to do in the time I spend in Hell, and I'm not super-eager to go back up to the surface, anyways, so I shrug and follow him.

The carnival is flashing lights, huge Ferris wheels and roller coasters defying gravity and the laws of sanity. Thousands of 'tortured' souls mill around the carnival, laughing and riding rides and eating cotton candy. They're all ridiculously upbeat for being dead. And I know why. When someone dies, the separation of their soul from their body strips them of all ability to feel emotion or record memories. They don't even remember much of their time on earth.

It hits me that my parents are around here somewhere, laughing, not caring in the slightest that their kids are back up on earth struggling to survive.

(Or whatever the hell it is I do).

I could find them down here and they wouldn't care at all.

"Cherry or Green Apple?" Damien holds up two cones full of cotton candy.

"They all taste the same," I say. He gives me the Green Apple. I eat it slowly as I walk through the carnival, through this mimicry of life.

I tell him what's been happening up on earth, what I told the girl. He says it probably will have an affect on her regarding her relationship with her father; then he adds, "you're doing whatever she wants, aren't you?"

I stop and stare at him. "What?"

"Lila. _Mistress_ Lila. You're a perfect little lapdog, the poster boy for 'Pet.'" He grins and pops a chunk of cotton candy into his mouth. "Carrying out all her orders."

"Hey," I start, my voice rising a little, "If I don't do what she says, then she'll go after innocents. It's not like I've got a choice-"

"Sure you do."

I keep on staring.

"You could die," he volunteers. "You could die and stay dead."

"I-I . . . I can't do it."

He grins. "We're figuring out a way. And then you can stay down here in Hell with me forever, Kenny, and never have to answer to that bitch ever again."

* * *

><p>Lila finds me stumbling around in her study, bleary-eyed and wearing the fae-styled clothing. I suppose this place has become my new home.<p>

"Good, you're awake," she says. "Just in time. Want to come with me to talk to Ala?"

"He's still here?" I mumble as I follow her through the house.

"No. He went home and came back."

"Oh."

Nothing else needs to be said. Ala is waiting in the eating room, his arms crossed. He leans back against the wall as the picture of casualty.

"I would like to know why my daughter is calling me an evil slave trader who doesn't care about people," he says. "And I would like to know why she says her new best friend is named Kenny, the same name that your new pet carries. The pet you said was dead, who I now see standing in front of me."

Lila pats me on the head. "I'm afraid I might have told you a little white lie," she says. "You see, Kenny is worth more than just a pretty thing to look at."

"I see." He examines me. "How did you find her?"

"I have my ways." She smiles.

"I don't like the words your pet has put in her head."

"The pet is right here," I mutter. Lila's grip around my shoulders tightens.

"It's only fair she know what kind of filth you soil yourself with," Lila says. "If you want to go ahead and lie to your daughter, you might as well suffer the consequences."

He sighs and rubs his forehead. Then he says, "What do you want, Lilanya?"

"I want a share of your profits. I want the portals you've opened in the Middle East. _I want you to start calling me Frrerr_."

He snorts. "Not going to happen."

They look at each other for a few seconds. I really, really don't want to be here.

"You'll never find her again," he says. "Don't get your hopes up about controlling any inch of me, because it's not going to happen."

Lila giggles. Ala turns and walks from the house.

I stare after him for a few seconds. Then Lila sighs and sits on the blanket, back against the wall, eyes fluttering closed.

"That went rather well," she says.

"It did?"

"Yes." She waves her hand. "Go get something to eat. I can't remember the last time I fed you."

The cotton candy I had down in Hell doesn't count. The kitchen is as bustling full as usual, the three or four chefs running everywhere in an attempt to get everything cooked. From what Lila's said to me, most of her extended family lives in this giant house, although I've barely caught glimpses of them. She says they use the other wings.

One of the cooks gets me a bowl of the ricelike seeds that come from the Yalyrow plant. I sit on the counter, eating it with the tiny ladle that is their version of a spoon. I'm almost finished with my food when a girl of maybe eight or nine bursts into the kitchen.

"It's the market!" she cries. "Come look! Come look!"

She's one of the non-brainwashed ones. There are five or six of them working for Lila. The other humans in the kitchen keep working, but one of the cooks looks up.

"What is it?" she asks.

"We have to come see! It's crazy!"

"Kenny," the cook orders, "go get Jea."

I nod, tiptoe out of the kitchen, and find him filling out a bunch of paperwork on the other end of this wing. He demands an explanation but I just say it's urgent and drag him back to the kitchen. I've got a feeling Christophe has something to do with this.

The little girl is still begging us to hurry up. The cook sneaks us out of the house before I even have time to suggest asking Lila. Is this how things work around here for the strong-minded slaves? They come and go as they please? Or is it just a special occasion to be rebellious?

The little girl leads the four of us towards the marketplace. Huge masses of fae and humans surround a stage a few hundred feet ahead. My stomach clenches. There's a banner in the wind, waving the words, "FREEDOM NEVER DIES" in printed Lyah.

A figure yells into a megaphone. I recognize Jenna's shrieking voice before I can even make her out. She's screaming about following rules, setting values, doing what's right - surprisingly little about freeing humans.

Gregory, Christophe, and Bebe cluster around her. And then there's Stan and Kyle, each holding a gun.

. . . fuck you, Gregory. Fuck you for getting my friends involved in this.

A fae tries to rise up on the stage, and Christophe shoots. A tranquilizer dart imbeds in his neck and he stumbles. I guess loading their guns with real bullets would look kind of bad for this whole rebellion thing. Jenna keeps talking, people keep clustering.

"Humans," the little girl who fetched us whispered. "Humans just like us. They're so brave to get up there and-"

"This is wrong. I'm going back to tell Mistress." White-faced, Jea turns. I grab his shoulder.

"Dude!"

"What?" he snaps. I realize the word doesn't translate.

"They're talking about freedom! They're humans just like you! Isn't that, you know, kind of inspiring?"

He snorts. "They're going to get killed." He stalks off. "I won't tell Mistress you were here if you don't do anything stupid!" he calls back.

I rub my eyes. "Shit," I mutter.

The cook and the little girl are still staring up Jenna on the stage, dreamy-eyed and ogling.

The fae equivalent of police officers start to threat through the crowd. I've spent enough time in this world to recognize them; they wear helmets of woven wires and carry the glowing poles. "Everyone get it out here!" they shout, zapping random humans. They make their way for the stage.

Jenna starts to wrap up her speech.

"And I know one day this country will be the most powerful of them all! That one day we will prosper on the good will and justice of the people, not underground trades and illegal business! That one day we will come to accept what is right! I have absolute faith in the fae of this county and the Congregation and her Righteousness, the Queen, that this will be so! I believe-"

Christophe grabs her arm and drags her off the stage. The six of them start to run through the crowds, loosing themselves. The banner stays. Within a few seconds, they've turned down the corner, the police chasing after them. I have no doubt they'll be able to defend themselves. I kind of wish I'm with them. Okay, I really wish I were with them.

"Okay! Okay! Break it up!" the remaining police officers yell, smacking their poles. The cook, the little girl and I head back to Lila's mansion before we're missed.

* * *

><p>Brainwashing passes as sickeningly as usual. After I repeat the final phrase, I tear out of the warehouse and sprint as fast as I can for the address on Christophe's map.<p>

It's in the marketplace, the part of the economic district where they serve alcohol-beverages which a toxic to humans, and indulge in their own brands of narcotics.

The address he gave me is a tiny little shack of a tent-house, next to a much larger restaurant. For a second I think I have the wrong address. Then Gregory pokes his head out, grabs me, and pulls me into the shack.

The shack has only one room, and shadows deepen in the corners. Jenna is hunched over against the wall, her arms crossed.

"You finally showed up. Good." Gregory hands me and Jenna each a stack of clothing. "I'll be right back, I just want to make sure my in is still working. Get changed. Take out a couple of your earrings so you'll blend in better, too."

He leaves Jenna and me alone together. Blackness blends over her face. She glowers at me and turns around to change. I copy her. The clothing Gregory has given me is a long-sleeved version of the shirt I already wear, and thicker pants. A black-and-purple design runs over the shirt. I shrug off my baggy pants and pull the newer ones on. Just as I'm taking off my shirt, I feel her eyes on me.

"What?" I turn. She's already dressed.

"You make a good fucking slave." Her eyes glimmer with malice. "Nice bracelets."

"Fuck you," I hiss back, and instinctively rub at metal around my wrists. She sees my weakness and she smirks at it. Little bitch.

I turn around to continue shrugging on my new shirt.

"What happened to your back?"

"Would you stop looking at me while I'm changing?"

"What fucking happened to it?"

I realize we've been speaking in Lyah the whole time. The fact that it took me this long to notice is kind of unnerving.

"It's none of your goddamn business." My shirt goes over my head. I turn to face her again. She's leaning against the wall, her arms crossed, her eyes impossible to read.

"Someone scratched you."

"Like I said, it's none of your goddamn business." I'm loosing this fight, and we both know it. I should not loose a fight like this to a thirteen year old.

"Was it your 'Mistress?'" There's definitely a sneer to her voice now.

I take a step forward, fists clenched in front of me. "Okay. You want to know the truth? She rapes me on a regular business and she likes to play rough, hence all the bite and scratch marks and bruises. Any questions?"

She shrinks a little bit. I retread back to my side of the room and slump to the floor.

"Sorry," she mumbles. "I wasn't thinking. I thought-"

"You thought I was getting to fuck her as part of my deal for selling all you guys out. Sorry, but psychotic cold-blooded bitches don't really turn me on, and I never wanted to sleep with the one who murdered my parents, okay?"

"I'm sorry," she says in a small voice.

I close my eyes. "I am, too."

We're both quiet for almost a minute. Come on, hurry up, Gregory.

"My older sister . . . " She begins. "Our master . . . took a liking to her. A lot of fae do that to the pretty humans, especially the vulnerable looking ones. She didn't have a choice, either."

_Are you saying I'm vulnerable?_ I want to scream. Instead, I say, "I'm sorry."

"It doesn't matter," she says. "She was brainwashed, so she wasn't a real person, anyway." Her expression turns hard again.

Gregory returns to the shack like room, bearing strips of dark purple cloth. _Thankgodthankgodthankgod_. "Wrap these around your arms," he says, giving each me and Lila two. "You're posing as the fae equivalent as waiters."

"Gregory," I say, "how do you do all this, get all this organized and get all this intel, without even speaking the language?"

"I've picked up a few words," he says, smirking a little. "And I happen to be naturally skilled at getting what I want. Here." He hands Jenna a golden earring loop. She grimaces, then shoves it into her ear. "Kenny, can you take yours out? The six earrings are a little conspicuous. One or two would blend in better."

I shake my head. "I can't."

"Is there a spell on them preventing it?"

"No."

"Will the fae holding you know if you've taken it off?"

". . . no."

"Then why can't you-"

"He can't take it off on his own right now," Jenna interrupts. I expect her to stop bitching about me, but her tone remains steady. "Look, when the rebellion was just migrating to the cave, the first thing we had everyone do was take out their earrings. It was a huge thing for everyone. Some people took days before they could take theirs out. Some people never took their earrings out. It took me a day to get all three of mine out. I kept having to retry it."

"Why?"

". . . because we're scared." She looks at me. "And we're not supposed to take them out. I don't know if Kenny can do it on his own."

I reach up to pull out the stubs, just to show her she's wrong. Then my hands start to tremble. I remember Lila forcing them into my ear, cutting my hair, telling me who I belong to-

"Fuck," I mumble, and drop my hands.

Jenna comes over to me. Even though I have about ten inches on her, she stands on her tiptoes, reaches up, and threads all but one of the earrings out of my earlobe. She hands the five of them to me and I shove them into the pocket of my new pants. My heart beats way too fast. This is bad. This is really bad. If Lila knew - but she told me to be her 'in' to the rebellion - but I'm not supposed to take them out . . . I'm not . . . . I'm not . . .

"It's going to be all right," she says in English, and steps back.

"Well, now that that's over with," Gregory says, "shall we proceed with the mission?"

* * *

><p>moar Bebe 'n Wendy in the next chapter.<p>

Sorry for the slash. It crept up on me. -_-

Reviews are love.


	6. Chapter Six

For everyone who's still reading this story even after that crazy long break, thank you so much! I promise not to take that long of a break. Even though apparently I have carpal tunnel now, so typing is painful. (How do you get carpal tunnel at sixteen? HOW?).

This chapter is shorter because I broke chapter six into two parts for pacing reasons. Chapter 6.5 will be uploaded sometime this week, I think.

. . . I promise the next chapter will be more interesting. Bebe and Wendy are in the next one, I swear!

* * *

><p>Music:<p>

Half the Man - Threshold

Oh no! - Marina and the Diamonds

Heart's a Mess - Gotye

* * *

><p>Chaos churns around us. Human slaves carry trays full of food to fae sitting on blankets in the corner. People are shouting in Lyah, and dishes crack in the kitchen. Something crackles in the back, like meat being fried. The restaurant is huge, about the size of a gymnasium. Lights flicker from floating balls of flame. Threads are woven into the walls to make scribbly pictures. The ground below us is covered with a blanket.<p>

There are about ten different groups of fae, and about six or seven sit at each group. Their arms are marked with dozens of symbols. The symbols run under their shirt collars and up their necks. Some even have the symbols on their cheeks and foreheads. These guys are way, way more powerful than Lila.

"There you are!"

An unbrainwashed human grabs me and Jenna and starts to propel us to the kitchen.

"We've been looking all over for you!" she says.

"Uh," I say. "You have?"

"You're the help that Leum sent over, right? Mistress threatened to castrate him if he didn't lend us two slaves to help with the work."

"Oh, right." I laugh nervously.

"That's us," Jenna says.

I remember Gregory checking to see if his 'in' still worked. Ten bucks says he knocked out the real slaves and deposited them in the gutter. What an asshole.

The slave woman drags us into the kitchen. It smells so good I want to cry. I barely eat anything in this world, and in the past week I've gone from thin to borderline-skeleton. I eye the plates full of food the chefs have deposited on the counters. God, it smells so good. Jenna looks like she agrees.

"Hurry," the slave woman says, "the meat course is just starting. Take over tables six and seven, would you? And you, girl, take four and five." The other human slaves who have just popped into the kitchen sigh in relief when they see us.

I guess none of them are brainwashed here. That would make sense, working in a restaurant. You'd want your help to be able to stop thieves instead of just smiling at them.

I grab a tray, grunting a little under the weight.

"If they ask," the slave woman says, grimacing a little, "tell them it's Skalab. A young one, too. Butchered just this afternoon."

"Kay," I say. Jenna turns white.

"What?" I whisper to her as we exit the kitchen.

"Skalab is ground-up human meat," she whispers.

I almost drop the tray.

It looks like perfectly normal meat, brown and piled high on the plates.

Oh, god, it still smells amazing. Fucking hell.

I do a quick scan of the room, and decide which tables are probably six and seven from the way it's arranged. I hurry over to what I think is table six and bow my head.

They don't take any notice of me. I smile my 'brainwashed human' smile as I give each of them a plate. There are about five females and one male. I guess female fae have more magic in this world, or something. This must make them bitchier, if Lila is anything to go by.

"What's this?" one of the females asks me, pointing at the meat.

"Skalab, Frrerr. Young and freshly butchered." I want to puke.

She makes a face. "No, thank you." Another female refuses a plate. It seems to be more about taste than civil rights, but it still gives me hope.

I return to the kitchen at the same time as Jenna. "Any luck?" I whisper to her.

She shakes her head. "All except one took it, and I think she was vegetarian. You?"

"Kind of. Probably not." I still have a table to go. Please, please.

In a way, serving human meat will help us. If someone's going to eat a human, they very well aren't going to help us out with our little revolution.

I accept another tray from the slave woman in the kitchen and head out to table number seven. The first three females accept the meat without complaint.

"What kind of meat is -" One of the females lets her voice trail off and bunches her eyebrows together expectantly.

"It's Skalab, Frrerr. Young and-"

"They're still serving that!" Her eyebrows shoot up over her forehead. "I thought it was illegal now! I thought that bill had been passed in the Congregation."

The male next to her pats her shoulder. "No, it's still legal. Unfortunately."

"You!" she says to me. "You're not brainwashed. What do you think of this?"

I freeze up. I'm standing over her and six other fae, all of whom could probably blow me to bits with a spell. I really don't want to die tonight.

"Sister," the male next to her says. "You can't ask him that."

"Stop talking to the slaves, Yali," another female fae says from across the blanket.

"No," Yali says, "I want to hear what you have to say!" She grabs my free wrist.

I turn to stone. My breath stops. Because I've been grabbed like this before, too many times, and my body knows what happens next. I want to curl up into a ball and sob.

"Frrerr," I say. "Please. Release me."

Yali's brother touches her. She sighs and lets me go.

"My apologies," she says. "No Skalab for me, please."

"None for me either," her brother says.

Well, they're the first two fae to treat me like a person instead of a pet or a slave or an object.

I head back to the kitchen. Jenna is already there. "Got one," I mutter in English.

"Fucking finally," she says. She's pouring glasses full of the alcoholic liquid and setting them on a tray. "You ready to test them?"

I nod. "Yeah. I'll do it-"

"No," she says. "I'll do it."

"Jen, you're like a foot shorter than me. I'm older, I can handle this, and if they go too far I can come back to life again-"

"We don't want you dying tonight, and you want to explain to your Mistress why you have a shit ton of bruises?" she demands. "I'll do it. There's one male at table four who's a complete asshole." She finishes filling up her tray and heads out into the main restaurant.

I sigh and start pouring my own glasses. I've just placed the last glass on my tray when I hear glass shattering, a male fae cursing, and Jenna screaming.

I duck out into the restaurant without my tray. The male fae from table four has Jenna by the collar, holding her in the air. He's covered in water and broken shards of pottery. She 'tripped' and spilled the tray on him. She begs in Lyah and he shakes her back and forth.

"Excuse me," he says to the rest of the fae. "I need to go deal with this little bitch."

He takes her out of the restaurant, onto the street. I creep after them, hiding in the shadows. He shoves her to the ground and starts to kick her.

"Clumsy . . . little . . . bitch!" he snarls with every kick. "I'll have you made into Skalab!"

She's still begging, curled up into a little ball, hands over her head. Each thump makes me flinch.

"You bastard!"

Yali runs out of the restaurant and tackles him. They roll over on the street. I watch in disbelief as they punch and kick at each other.

"Enough!"

They both freeze, glowing bright blue. Yali's brother emerges from the restaurant. A symbol on his neck is glowing blue. He flicks his fingers and Yali and the other fae float apart from each other.

"We're supposed to be magicians," he says. "Settle your disputes through intellect, not common brawls. And Yali, Aslo was perfectly in his right to discipline the slave."

The blue spell releases them. They slump to the street.

"Apologies, brother," Yali says. She glowers at Aslo on her way back into the restaurant.

"My apologies for the disturbance." Aslo bows his head and follows her.

It's only the brother on the street now. He can probably already sense me, so I head on over to Jenna.

The brother shuffles around in his pocket a bit, then comes up to us. I flinch to have him so close. He's six and a half feet tall, a bit short for a fae male, but still much taller than me. He hands me a couple twists of purple iron. The fae equivalent of money.

"I'd prefer you told no one about this," he says quietly. "And I would rather pay you than spell you to keep quiet."

I blink and stare at him. My brain processes for a second. During the American civil war, abolitionists were highly looked down upon for trying disrupt the economy and North-South relations. Here, there isn't even any talk of freeing slaves. Having an attitude similar to Yali's is probably extremely looked down upon, not to mention the lack of self-control she showed when she tackled Aslo.

"No need to spell me, Ferr," I say. Ferr is the term applied to adult males, although it's hardly ever used. I hand him back the money. "How much does it cost for a healing spell?"

He stares at me for a second, then smiles sadly. "As my rates go? About thirty times that much." But he leans down next to Jenna anyway and extends his hands.

She's in bad shape. Bruises are already forming on her skin. Her shirt is ripped up, exposing purpling ribs. Probably cracked. Blood runs down her face. I crouch down next to the brother as he work, knowing I'm not supposed to be this close to him but not caring.

Jenna starts to breath easier as he heals her. Then she starts to laugh. Some alarm shows on his face, but he keeps healing anyway. She opens her eyes and grins at me. And I grin back. Because I know. This is our guy.

Yali is too emotional, to volatile. I can already tell. But this guy, even though he scolded her for defending Jenna, is still touching a human. He doesn't think she's toxic the way all the rest of them do. And he seems really, really powerful.

"She may need some rest," he says when he stands back up.

I glance around the street. It's pretty empty, but you can never be too sure . . . "Can you come over here with me, please, Ferr?"

He blinks. "Why . . . ?"

I know I'm extremely out of line for a slave, but if he willingly comes with me then we may have a chance.

"You'll see." Jenna stands up and spits out a hunk of blood. Then she leads us to the shack next door. Gregory isn't there, although I know he will show up at my signal.

He lights a magical floating flame and it hovers above our heads. He eyes us for a few seconds.

"Won't you be missed?" he asks.

"We will," Jenna says, "but since we don't actually work here, it doesn't matter."

He makes the connection then. "You planned to get beaten. To see if I would heal you."

"Yes," I agree. I pull an envelope from my pocket and hand it to him. "This is a message from our leader."

"Your leader . . . " His eyes narrow. He tears open the envelope anyway, and reads the letter inside. I imagine he's not used to this kind of paper, because he holds it awkwardly, almost crumpling it. But he reads.

I know what it says.

_The Rebellion formally invites you to join our cause._

_-The Englishman._

He closes the envelope.

"I'm the Singer," I say. "It's a pleasure to make your acquaintance."

"I am the Soldier." Jenna smiles. We shake hands with him, a gesture that no doubt confuses him."

"Oh, dear," he says.

"I believe you may have heard of our organization."

Gregory steps into the shack, arms crossed, smiling. One of his hands rests on the hilt of his sword.

"Greetings," he says in English. The brother appears to understand him. "I am the Englishman. To get straight to the point, we're members of the human rebellion, an organization with civil rights for all as our goals. You might have heard of us."

"Multiple break-ins to warehouses, organizing the human resistance that kidnapped this town's Aliesh's sons, the symbols on the buildings, speaking at multiple locations about political goals and equality - yes, I've heard of you," the brother replies in perfect English.

"Thank you," Gregory says, smiling. "To elaborate, we are a small group of humans. About half of us are from the human world, as seen with myself and The Singer. Some of us are escaped slaves, like Jenna. We intend to increase our number through more escaped slaves. However, the brainwashed do not mend after any span of time, and we are informed there is no spell to do so. We would like you to develop this spell."

"You want me to develop a spell."

Gregory nods.

The brother rakes his fingers through his hair. "This is crazy," he says. "How do you know that you can trust me?"

"Multiple reasons. We don't necessarily have to trust you. The fae already know our faces and our names. Our hiding spot is secure and we can evacuate it within minutes if necessary. If you intended to go along with us then later turn us in when you had all the members of our organization in your grasp, you could simply capture us now and torture the information out of us. Also, at not one point during the conversation have you asked 'what's in it for me?' which implies you are not entirely self-motivated. And if all else fails, the Mole can bash you over the head with a shovel and we'll make our escape."

"Chris is here?" I ask.

"He's lurking." Gregorys shrugs. "So. What'll it be, Mr . . . "

"Draki." He still looks a bit bewildered, but he's smiling more now. "Nice to meet you, Ferr Englishman."

"Feel free to call me Gregory." They shake hands.

* * *

><p>Christophe pops up from the ground a minute later, covered in dirt and cursing in his usual accent.<p>

I step back and stare at him. "Uh . . ."

"I was waiting in case 'e tried to kill you or turn you in or somezing." Christophe smiles at the Draki, exposing teeth. "Ees 'e coming wiz us?"

"With you?" He's still staring at Christophe. It's not every day you see a human explode from the ground.

"Zere ees a reason zey call me ze Mole," Christophe says, smirking. "You can check out our base, meet our people, start discussing sheet. Unless you're afraid of some humans."

"That sounds fine," Draki says. "I'll need to tell my sister goodbye, though."

Christophe shrugs. We all watch him leave.

"Ten dollars says 'es going to ze police," Christophe says.

"Shut up, dude." I walk over to him so I can jam an elbow into his ribs. "If he wanted to turn us in he could have done it five seconds ago. He's crazy strong, no matter how good you are with a shovel. And he healed Jenna."

"I still don't trust 'im."

"Is it because he can speak English better than you even though he's a fairy from an alternate dimension?"

"Shut up!"

Draki returns. He surveys us. "I'm ready."

"All right," Christophe says. "Looks like you didn't turn us in. Let's get closer to the wall and I will dig us out."

"As fun as that sounds," Draki says, "I have a better idea."

He leads us over to one of the boxcar spaceship things, in a lot about half a mile away. The others pile inside. I hesitate.

"Guys, I really have to get back to my Mistr- I mean, Lila."

"You were just about to-" Christophe starts.

"No, I wasn't," I snarl. They all stare at me.

"Look, I have to get back." I pull the earrings from my pocket and start threading them through my ears. Some part of me relaxes.

"You're wearing bracelets," Draki notes. Then: "Oh, dear. You're still enslaved."

"I'm not enslaved. I'm just-"

"'E's enslaved," Christophe says.

I turn to stalk away. He grabs my arm.

"She let you go out to do zis, right?" he hisses.

"She wants me to be her 'in' to this rebellion, you know that, right? She wants to make sure you aren't getting too powerful. The longer I'm gone, the harder it'll be to convince her that nothing is up tonight."

"Tell her you wanted to see your family again," Christophe says. "Just spend ze night wiz us. Please."

There's a desperate look in his eyes, and even though he's grimy and reeks of cigarette smoke, I can't help but think that a part of him is beautiful like this.

"Okay," I say, although I know Lila won't go for it. She'll hit me and starve me and tease me with her condescending words and scratching nails. I don't want - I don't -

I step inside the boxcar. The doors reappear and we float through the air. Draki doesn't even need to touch it with his bare hands. A symbol on his right arm glows, just one. Impressive.

"You're still enslaved," he says, "to a powerful fae. Yet you aid the rebellion. And you still have your mind, despite being from the human world."

I sigh and open my mouth. Over the past few weeks, I've gotten very good at talking with my lips mostly closed. Now I tip my head back and say, "Yeah, I'm kind of a freak," in Lyah.

His eyebrows shoot up when my mouth glows blue.

"You're not human," he says.

"Yeah, I am."

"That kind of spell is physically impossible for a human to possess."

I explain the dying thing to him. He stares at me with wide eyes.

"That's amazing," he says.

"Yeah, it is," I say. "And that's why I've got to get ho- I mean, back to my M- I mean, Lila."

"Just fucking say it already," Jenna snaps. "It's not like it'll offend us. I was the same way for weeks after I was freed. So you feel like she owns you. So fucking what-"

Christophe grabs my arms when I move towards her, although I didn't mean to do anything.

"I'm okay," I mutter, still glaring. "Okay. I need to get back to my Mistress."

Even though Jenna said they didn't care, Christophe and Gregory both still wince when the word comes out of my mouth.

"She's a slave trader," I say to Draki. "I don't want to tell you any more."

His eyebrows shoot up.

"I feel like I'm betraying her," I grind out. "This whole thing - it feels like betrayal. I'm not - I'm supposed to do whatever she says. Someone will get hurt. Someone-"

Christophe hugs me, hard, and mutters into my ear, "Eet's going to be all right."

We touch down outside the portal and duck through into the human world. It's about two in the morning. Gregory's car is out in the alley, the Toyota pickup truck. Jenna gets into the front with him while the other three of us ride in the back.

Draki keeps on staring as we drive, his eyes huge.

"Welcome to ze 'uman world," Christophe says, snorting. He lights up a cigarette.

"I've seen many of these things in pictures," Draki says, "but I wasn't expecting- " His wings flutter a bit. He stares at the street lights, the sidewalks, the groups of teenagers who are always out at this time of night, the trash, the McDonalds and the dozens of cars. Glowing lights and traffic noises fill our surroundings, even in a quiet little town like South Park. It's snowing. I catch a snowflake in my mouth when we reach a stoplight, and, eyes huge, he copies me. I guess they don't have snow in the fae world.

"It's cold!" he says.

"Yeah. It's frozen water."

"It's coming from the sky like rain!"

"I don't really know the science behind it. Something with evaporation?" I look to Christophe for help. He just smirks. He knows why but he's not going to explain, the bastard.

Draki continues to ogle the trees even as we turn into the woods. We approach the house at a little after three. I'm so tired that I want to throw up, but I know if I go to sleep now I won't wake up for, like, twelve hours, and by then Lila will be really pissed.

Gregory leads us into the kitchen. "Want some tea?" he asks Draki.

"Tea?"

"You'll like it," he says, amused.

"Coffee ees better," Christophe says, stubbing out his cigarette. Bebe is drowsing at the kitchen table. She jerks up when he shakes her awake.

Her gaze lands on Draki. "He's gonna help us?" she says in a low voice.

"Hopefully," Gregory says.

Bebe eyes him. She stands up straight and walks over to shake hands with Draki.

"The Sniper. Bebe. Can you rescue my girlfriend?"

"Your girlfriend . . . ?"

"A lesser version of a life partner. Like a life-partner-in-training," Gregory explains, busying himself with a pot of water.

"She was captured. And Kenny says she's brainwashed." Bebe shakes her head and swallows.

"I'm sorry." Draki runs his fingers through his hair. "I don't have a spell to eliminate the effect of the brainwashing, although Gregory said something about developing one."

She nods. "Yeah. Just. Whatever you can do . . . " She goes over to me and hugs me. "Glad you're okay," she mumbles.

I hug her back. "Yeah."

"I'd talk to you," she says, "but I'm really tired. Are you going to be here when I wake up?"

"Yeah."

She kisses me on the cheek. "See ya in the morning, idiot." She wanders up the stairs and back to her bedroom.

I go back out to the car and get the clothes I was wearing before. I hide in a bathroom to change into them. When I come back, Gregory has the pot of tea ready and is pouring a cup for Draki. "We have some things to discuss," he says.

"Yes, we do." Draki glances at me. "Although later I would like to perform some tests on you."

I shiver.

"Kenny?"

"Yeah," I say. "I guess that would be okay. As long as they aren't dangerous."

"You'd be fine," he reassures me, which is less than reassuring.

"I'm going to bed." Jenna stumbles off.

I'm struck by the urge to greet my little sister, to hug her, to punch my brother in the shoulder and ask him how he's doing, to blow raspberries on Kieran's stomach and tickle him. I want to pretend for some semblance of normalcy.

Instead, Christophe takes me to the bedroom he shares with Gregory. I make a joke about them sleeping together, and he punches me in the gut. Really hard.

After fake-gagging a bit, I flop back on the bed and close my eyes.

"Do you really 'ave to go back?" Christophe mutters.

"She'll hurt people," I say.

"I don't care," he says fiercely, and I almost think he means it.

He lights another cigarette and smokes for a few minutes in silence. I'm out of energy, exhausted, starving, shaken. I don't know what having Draki on our side will do for us. I don't know if it's possible to trust him.

"Hey, Chris," I say.

He looks up at me.

"Why do you keep kissing me?"

I wince as soon as I've said it.

He stubs his cigarette out on the ashtray next to his side of the bed. "Because I want to."

". . . and that means?"

"Eet doesn't matter what eet means," he says. "'ow do you feel about eet?"

I look down at the bed. "I'm straight."

"Oui."

"Totally, completely straight."

"Umm-hmm."

"I like boobs. And pussy. Lots of pussy."

Christophe rolls his eyes. "Your point?"

"You're a guy."

"I still don't see eet."

"Chris," I almost snap.

He sighs and scoots over to me, puts an arm around my shoulder and draws me to him.

"See," he says. "Zis isn't so bad."

Yeah, I want to say, but that's only because I'm starved for human attention and I desperately need someone, anyone right now. It's not because I'm . . . into you.

I don't say anything.

"I can't stand ze zought of zat beetch 'aving any power over you," he says. "I can't stand ze zought of anyone 'urting you. I want to protect you."

"I can look after myself," I say.

"I know you can," he says, "but I want to protect you anyway. I feel like I will die eef I don't protect you."

I stare at him. He shrugs.

"Oh," I say.

"Oui," he says, "eet ees a bit of a problem but I am sure I can deal wiz eet some'ow."

I shrug out of his hold, pull my knees to my chest, and bury my head in my arms.

"This is fucked up, dude," I mutter. "I already have too much shit going on. I don't want to lose you as a friend as well."

He takes me chin and forces me to look at him. "You will never loose me as a friend," he promises in that low, gravelly voice of his, and then he kisses me again. I still managed to be surprised even though this is the third time it's happened.

He's warm and strong and tastes like cigarettes. The thought of kissing a guy is a bit gross. But I haven't kissed anything human in so long. At this point, Lila would be biting me, scratching me, forcing me back against a wall.

Christophe is just softly kissing me. I melt.

I end up on my back with him on top of me. He straddles my waist and loosely holds my wrists above my head as he moves his lips against mine. His hands restrain me but I know I could break free if I want.

When he breaks apart, we're both gasping. I feel so warm. I'm used to the cold, to feeling numb, to hiding myself away. I'm used to being hurt. I don't know what to do now that it's just light touches and his eyes are so full of an emotion I can't even place.

He starts to kiss me again, down my jawline, over my neck, to my collarbone. His hands are just reaching under my shirt when I say, "You know she rapes me, right?"

He freezes and draws back, staring down at me. I don't meet his gaze.

"Fuck," he says, and rolls off me. He sits on the edge of the bed and closes his eyes. "Fuck," he mumbles again.

I sit up. Some part of me is relieved. _She wouldn't like it if she knew what you were doing . . . _

"Fuck," he repeats. He looks at me. "I -" He stops. His fists tighten. "I am going to fucking kill zat beetch."

He stands up and starts to stalk to the door. I grab him around the waist.

"Dude," I say, and I can't say anything else.

He almost vibrates for a second, like he's about to explode. Then he moves back to sit on the bed.

"You used present tense," he says.

"Yeah."

"Fuck. Fuck. Fuck." He shakes his head. "I'm going to kill 'er."

"Don't do anything stupid." I sit next to him.

"Fuck."

We both stare at the wall.

"I didn't know," he says.

I nod. "I'd prefer it that way."

"I'm going to kill 'er."

He lights up another cigarette. His eyes are reddened and he's trembling.

"I am sorry for taking advantage of you."

I shake my head. "I don't mind."

"Zat's only because she's broken you," he hisses, and I don't deny it.

We sit there for a few long minutes. Then Christophe makes a choking noise. I look at him. He presses his face into his palms so I can't see his eyes.

"I don't know what to do."

It's fucked up that I'm the one comforting him, and we both know it, because the second I try to hold him he tosses out his cigarette and grabs me, pulls me to his chest and holds on to me like I'll break apart if he doesn't.

I squeak a little when he pulls me this close, but make no move to escape.

We're like that for a long time.

Then my bracelets start to heat up.

"Fuck." I withdraw and rubs my wrists. They're a few degrees above room temperature now, enough to warn me. "I have to go."

"You said you could stay." He pleads with his eyes.

I shake my head. "I have to go. She's pissed that I'm not back. I have to go back to Mistress."

He stares at me.

"Don't go," he says.

I keep shaking my head as I walk to the door. He pins me against the wall for another kiss. My straightness protests but I tell it to shut up and enjoy the feeling of being buried under another person; no tricks, no games, no force or violence. Just another person. And I don't care if this will hurt me in the long run, I don't care if I'm going to come out of this scarred or dead. I just want to feel like someone sees me as a human.

* * *

><p>By the time I get back to Lila's mansion, the bracelets are scorching my wrists. The instant I step through the threshold, they cool down. I sigh in relief and rub my sore skin.<p>

"You idiot!" Jea emerges from the hallway and grabs my shoulder. "Do you never learn? She wants to see you!"

He drags me through the halls, towards Lila's bedroom. I've only been in here a couple times. Whenever she brings me to her bedroom, it means she wants me to sleep next to her after she's finished playing with me. I hate it. She thinks my nightmares are funny and she always mocks me for crying in my sleep.

Her bedroom is rather small, a pile of blankets on the floor and a few dozen pillows. Blue fabric drapes over the walls, and a flame glows in the air, giving off a dim light. Lila sits on the blankets, her feet pressed together and her legs curled, her hands at her sides and her near-invisible wings spread, the fae version of meditating.

Jea leaves me alone with her. I hug myself, shivering.

"You were gone for a while." She opens her eyes and smiles. The expression drills into me. I shiver.

"I had to see my family again," I say.

"Ah," she says. "How are they?"

I blink. "Uh, other than my murdered parents . . . okay?"

"That's nice." She closes her eyes again and takes a deep breath. Is she mad? I can never fucking tell when she's mad.

I wait for thirty seconds.

"Uh . . . Mistress?"

"Yes, Kenny-dearest?"

"Um, are you angry?"

"Extremely." She smiles thinly, eyes still closed.

_Fuck. _"Uh . . . "

"I'm deciding who I should kill."

"What?" I practically yell.

"For your punishment. I think it should be someone from your town, but I could also just kill one of the imported humans. Preferably a child. Right in front of you, so you can appreciate it better."

"No-" I cut myself off. "Mistress, please. I apologize. It was insubordinate for me." I lean down over her. My lips brush over her collarbone. "Please forgive me."

She giggles a little bit. I start to kiss for real now, trailing my lips as far as the hemline of her shirt will allow. She tastes like rot to me. We're two different species; I don't know how any of them would ever want to sleep with us. Maybe our vulnerability attracts them.

I use my hands now to pull her dress over her head. She wears a thin shift under it. Her emaciated body, typical of the fae, makes me flinch. I force myself to touch. She is cold beneath me. This is wrong. This is wrong. The sheer incompatibility makes me flinch. I have to stop for a second, pull back and breathe deep. My shoulders shake.

I'm afraid, I think, even though she's made me do this twice before. She discovered a week or so ago that making me initiate gives me more self-hate than just taking it.

I force myself to lean back forward and kiss her again. Come on, I tell myself. Just a little more and she'll take control, just a little more -

She tastes nothing like Christophe. I keep kissing, my hands on her hips, pushing her back. She can't stand being dominated. But she stays relaxed anyways, testing me, seeing how far I'll go before I can't do it anymore.

I push my lips harder on hers and she moves against me a little bit. I flinch and draw away. She opens her eyes, smirking.

"Are you scared?"

I shake my head. "No, Mistress." But it's a lie.

She grabs me and shoves me onto my back. In some ways, this is better. In some ways, this is worse. I instinctively jerk a little, fighting to get to my feet. She grabs my wrists and holds them above my head.

"No fighting," she reminds me, her smirk widening. I close my eyes.

"Keep them open."

I obey. Stare up at her. Her mouth moves lower, over my chin, my neck, my collarbone - She pulls off my shirt and goes lower, lower-

I make a whimpering sound and cover my eyes with my palms. She sits up and I feel her watching me. She weighs down on me, skeletal and powerful.

"I said eyes open."

I shake my head.

"Move your hands, pet," she says.

I remove them.

"How cute," she coos. "You're crying. You hate to let me see you cry. What happened?"

I shake my head again. She pets her fingers through my hair. She's heavier than Christophe, but close enough to his weight for me to be able to pretend for a second. Less than a second. Then the fear swamps me again.

"I'm not crying."

"Don't lie to me." She kisses her index finger and places it against my lips. "I'll be unhappy if you lie to me."

"Please." My breath catches in my throat. "Mistress . . . please let me go . . . I don't want to . . . I want to sleep."

"You should have thought about that before you disobeyed me."


End file.
